


No Way Back

by blacklid, tahirire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, Multi, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-02-03
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 04:44:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 57,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacklid/pseuds/blacklid, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tahirire/pseuds/tahirire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <div class="center">
<br/><img/><p>One day, an Other would come, more powerful than any before him.<br/>Like all Others, he would have to choose between Light and Dark,<br/>And his choice would change the balance forever. </p>
<p><i>Nightwatch</i></p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Book 1: Play Crack The Sky

**_November, 2012_ **

Blake ducked left into a narrow alleyway, moving swiftly to the next connecting street. Footsteps pounded on the asphalt behind him, echoed in beat with the staccato pulse of the rain; too close for comfort. His lungs started to burn in his chest and he struggled to pull in more air as he ran, ignoring the pain. He struggled for purchase on the slick brown cobblestones, and threw out his hand to the lamp post and caught it just in time to keep from going down.

The sudden stop in his forward momentum left him spent completely. He rested his hands on his knees and drew in great gulps of air, willed his locking muscles to move and got no response. Blood dripped onto the backs of his hands carried by the rain, and his vision swam.

He’d taken that hit too long ago – an hour? Two?

The torrential downpour drowned the footsteps of his pursuers and shrouded the street from his eyes, leaving him deaf and blind. _And them too,_ he thought gratefully. _Small blessing._ Blessings, Blake knew, were always balanced with a curse, and the chilling rain that doused him to the bone was as good as a cage, shutting his system down from the outside in. He closed his eyes and focused on trying to catch his breath enough to move on to drier ground.

The roar of the rain almost drowned out the still, even voice of the man that was going to kill him, but the sound of the hammer being pulled back just behind his right ear came through just fine.

“Blake, stop running.”

Almost without thought, Blake pitched his right shoulder forward, following the natural force of gravity into a roll. His right hand dipped down and pulled the chrome .45 from its place on his hip, and he landed on his back with the barrel aimed straight into the younger Winchester’s face.

Sam didn’t flinch, but Blake hadn’t expected him to. 

The hunter’s eyes were unreadable through the liquid sheets between them. Everything was flickering and dark around the edges, and the darkness licked at Sam, stealing the world around him away until he was all Blake could see, until he could almost see two of him.

The gun in his hand grew heavy, and his grip weakened. Sam stepped closer, and his aim displayed no indication of wavering. “I know what you are.”

The pain in Blake’s lungs began to spike, and he dropped the gun completely in favor of coughing harshly into his hands. When he pulled them away, they were coated in blood. The world began to spin, and the fire in his chest went out as the rain stole the rest of his warmth away.

Sam towered over him now, and his voice seemed as cold and far away as the rest of the world and just as meaningless. His words were lost in the roar, and Blake sighed in surrender to the icy grip of death, drifting away into oblivion before the hunter’s bullet could finish the job for him.

 

**_December, 2005_ **

Blake was singing to himself.

He hadn’t noticed at first. The mp3 player was turned low so that he could hear the forest around him. The snaps and cracks of dry, dead twigs and leaves as he tracked his prey had hushed the soft slide of his baritone into the range of his ears, but after so many hours being awake, watching and waiting, everything sounded tinny and mutilated now.

_“They call 'em rogues. They travel fast and alone. One hundred foot faces of God's good ocean gone wrong. What they call love is a risk 'cause you will always get hit out of nowhere by some wave and end up on your own.”_

The sunlight reflected yellow into his eyes as the rays broke through the trees and ran themselves into the ground. There was no reason to be on high alert just now. They were all probably long gone.

Hunters preferred it quick and dirty, just like they always had. And why go looking for one lost sheep in an army when new ones were so much easier to find? Loyalty was running thin in wartime, and the ones left behind were the forgotten soldiers, strung out on vacant promises.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

There was enough light left to find the clues he needed. He also knew that he would find his quarry before the darkness shrouded any remaining threats. As he trudged another viewable distance through the tangled brush, he smelled what he sought long before he saw it.

_“They say that the captain stays fast with the ship through still and storm. But this ain't the Dakota and the water's so cold. Won't have to fight for long.”_

One large, unconscious whiff near the corpse was enough to make his nose sting and run. He crouched down and leaned his knuckles against the tops of his boots, careful to leave no more of his scent on the ground than was necessary. Bloody maggots already squirmed in the recesses of the shoulder cavity, raw and stringy tendons trailing out from where the skull should have been.

“Sorry, honey,” he told her, “I’m pretty sure this wasn’t what you meant when you offered to give ‘em head last night. Bastards should learn to clean up after themselves.”

He pulled on his gloves and cleared a small area around her, raking the stale brown refuse of the earth over and around her body like a makeshift shroud. “Where’s your father, huh? Where’s Luther?”

More bodies, more dead logs and two bottles of accelerant from his pocket later, flames leaped toward the darkened canopy, singeing the low hanging branches.

“I wonder what your way is really like for you sometimes, borrowing against other people’s lives,” Blake whispered to her. Then he pulled his coat close around him and leaned against a tree to watch over it. “I hope it’s worth it,” he added quietly.

Anger and heat roared deep into the throat of the ground, fire eating the contents until there was nothing left and it, too, began to die, until the darkness crept away towards the far west, and sunlight disguised itself in gray and muddied tones.

When only thin trails of smoke remained, he scratched at the morning shadow on his face and rose from his silent spot.

He walked to the pile and dug into the center, inspecting for bones. Charred fragments remained, metamorphosed into dark powder that floated out of his grasp and hung in the silent breath of the air.

Ash streaked his hands. He rubbed it across the tips of his fingers as he contemplated the texture. Discomfort ghosted over his face. Finally, he sighed and sank one hand into the weightless texture, and shook it into a small pile in the center of his palm.

“Here goes nothing, Blake,” he said to no one in particular and bent forward, using his tongue and lips to rake it into his mouth. He coughed several times and grabbed more, unsure when to stop. Suddenly he was not sure that he wanted to.

His guts clenched hard against it and sent his limbs into spasms. Half a dozen handfuls and the inside of his mouth felt like it was burning. His tongue started to seize up and his lungs reacted.

_It shouldn't be like this. This is what I was told to do. Maybe it was too much. Maybe..._

The burn took over. Everything was on fire.

Blake screamed and blood hemorrhaged from behind his eyes.

When he came to, drops of water ran in springs around his nose and pooled in his eyes, fell into his open mouth. He jerked upright, limbs still stiff and cock-eyed. His left hand clung to his other arm that hung numb and limp at his side. The fractured light hurt his eyes.

 _Enough_ , he thought.

The rain slowly stopped.

Stumbling steps sent him back through the trees, out of the wilderness and back to the roadside. His car was still there, white paint smudged with rain spattered soil and a gray pallor that echoed the feeling in his stomach.

He lead-footed it back to the motel with the heater blasting and stripped as soon as he walked in the door: coat, shoes, shirt, pants, all falling in a row to his target in the shower. He grabbed the pipe and hung on, letting the hot water steam down his back and rinse the dirt away.

The blackening he felt inside didn’t subside. If anything, the water was making it worse. He lathered and washed with quick hands, the stinging sensations bringing tears where he didn’t want them.

He wiped at his face with one of the towels and dark, hard cottony knots formed in places when he drug it down across his chest and torso, mopping at the hair on his head and his arms. A mark under his arm caught his attention. He must have missed it. In a steam-induced haze, he wiped at it again, and it changed and shifted along his skin. He dropped the towel and flexed to get a better look. Dirt didn’t smudge into perfect geometric shapes.

“What the ever-living hell.”

He blinked hard and rubbed at it. The lines grew darker and formed more complete symbols, filling in with pigment that resembled the line of three moles on his other side. He stared and wiped his fingers over the skin somewhat reverently as the pattern took shape. One ring hung outside the rest and moved more than the others; it reacted to his touch and spun into a smaller version of itself until it hugged the outer corners and edges of the design -- it had to be design -- and then it stopped.

Inside a grid was an architect’s square, two right ends of a triangle that embraced a loop shaped like a figure eight. The circle wavered near the outer corners of the square and as the sound of his heartbeat grew in his ears, it tightened and the muscle contracted around it. _Count down begun._

He squinted into the harsh light around the motel mirror. His hair had gone blond. His eyes were lighter. _Like a freaking chameleon._

“Well, Happy Birthday to me,” he gasped. 

 

_**June, 2009** _

_There was salt all over the floor, the windowsills, and his mother’s face. He wanted to tell her not to cry, but it seemed like a silly thing to say since he was crying, too.  His mother had long red hair and bright pale skin that glowed when they sat in front of the fire place. The lights in the house flickered, and the foundation rumbled. His mother cradled his face in her hands and smoothed his hair, and she kissed him on the head._

_“Got your backpack?”_

_“Yes, Momma.”_

_“You remember how to make a fire?”_

_“Yes, Momma.”_

_“Momma’s proud of you, sweetheart.”_

Blake woke up in the dark, huddled into a corner with his hands wrapped around his rifle and his arm pinned to his side by the sleeping form of a young woman with long blond hair. He tried to shake the memories his dream brought back to life, but his mother’s words echoed in the quiet of the makeshift bomb shelter.

_“What do we do when we see a demon?”_

_“Run away.”_

_“And what do we do when we see an angel?”_

Blake shrugged away from the exhausted slip of a girl and eased her to the ground. The few hunters defending the town had their hands full. He could stay and fight. He wanted to help this girl, to keep her from losing her mother the way he had lost his, but it was useless.

These hunters were fighting shadows of evil, and Lucifer and his horsemen were not his fight.

_“How will I know who I can trust?”_

_She had tweaked his nose and offered a watery smile. “That’s easy,” she said. “Whoever it is will be one of us.”_

He climbed the basement stairs. In the kitchen an old, grizzled hunter was on the radio, phoning in for backup. Blake hoped it helped. He crossed the river underneath a shattered bridge on his way out of town, and he offered up a prayer for the humans he left behind.

_His backpack felt so heavy, and it was so late. He had school in the morning, friends, a life. “Momma, I don’t want to run away any more.”_

_“I know, baby. Someday, when the time is right – you won’t have to.”_

 

**_September, 2010_ **

Blake never needed an alarm clock. He was the poster boy for the circadian rhythm. He kept it simple. He liked to rise with the sun and fall asleep when the last embers of his campfire drifted into ash. It was the way of the world, push and pull, night and day -- life and death. Everything had an end, and that was the way of the world, too.

At least it was until someone went and changed the rules. Now, the birds were hushed and still in the forests. The trees conserved their energy, no longer reaching for the sky with their knobby limbs. Monsters were going missing. And Blake was tired.

He put it out of his mind, concentrating on mapping out his path instead. The pull of the ancient one came from a deep and darkened place, a tangle of thick underbrush and nearly invisible even in the day. He retraced the steps he had memorized during recon painstakingly. In the dark the creature he tracked would be twice as deadly, three times more alert, and four times hungrier. Blake would only have one chance to convince it that he came in peace.

He reached a low blind formed from a downed tree and dropped quietly to his knees behind it, slung the M40 down off of his shoulder and settled it into the decaying bark. The humidity of the day had turned to a wet chill at sunset, and he breathed carefully on the lens of the scope to chase away condensation. It was a good position, about a quarter mile out, slightly elevated to provide the ability to sight through the brush. The path to his target was illuminated only by intermittent green flashes of fireflies. To Blake they looked like endless streams of twinkling holiday lights, bright enough to highlight anything he wished to see. He racked a round smoothly into the chamber just in case things all went South.

Minutes turned to half-hours, and half-hours to hours. Mist crept up around his shoulders and filled the basin below, blanketing everything with clouds. Blake pulled his face away from the scope and rolled out the tension in his shoulders. He pulled in his lower lip and worried it with his teeth, contemplating. After a moment, he shouldered the rifle again, decision made. It would come to him, if he just gave it some incentive; he just hoped he wasn’t pressing his luck. Blake army-crawled back a few paces and rolled over onto his back, steering clear of any visibility, and he sat up.

Bright blue eyes stared into his, bottomless as space. The mist clung thickly to a pair of white ears and cascaded down the chest and shoulders of the biggest wolf Blake had ever seen. He froze, locked into a staring contest with the animal.

The white wolf sat on its haunches and sniffed the air. It flicked its eyes over Blake’s shoulder and then back again as if to ask what he was thinking.

Blake felt the ghost of a smile press to his lips and he reached out to brush the wolf with his fingertips. _Hello, friend._

The wolf whined then, soft and sad, and thrust his nose into Blake’s hand. Blake stroked down the animal’s back and found his hand sinking into a thick coat of grey fur. Not a wolf, then, but a dog of some kind.

 _Cain,_ thought Blake, because he was both a protector and a warning. The dog wriggled closer to his chest and sighed contentedly. _Alright. I’ll wait._

Blake resumed his post behind the dead log and Cain curled up against his side, the rise and fall of his chest a welcome companionship. He hardly had time to re-draw the sight line before he saw movement.

The deepest point of the basin flickered bright blue. The flash was small at first but quickly gained intensity until a sizable area of the forest glowed almost neon. The mist curled away from the blue light as it moved, and Blake could make out robes trailing behind the cowled figure that emanated the light.

Blake allowed himself to relish the short burst of excitement. The djinn was old, maybe even the oldest. 

Cain growled low in his throat and his fur bristled. Blake frowned and scanned the area around the djinn, tightening his finger on the trigger.

The movement was slow and low to the ground, shrouded in shadows and well under the mist layer. Something - _someone_ \- was steps away from the djinn, crawling belly to the ground. As Blake watched, the shadow coiled tightly and readied to pounce, and a glint of blue light off of the surface of a knife was the only warning it gave before it struck.

The basin exploded in a flurry of muffled sound and flashes of bright light. The shadow creature buried the knife to the hilt at an upward angle just below the djinn’s left shoulder blade, angling for the heart. Just as quickly it ripped the weapon free again, circling out of reach as the djinn turned to engage.

Now that the creature was at its full height, Blake could make out the outline of a man. He was tall and broad-shouldered, well balanced, and obviously well-trained. He flipped the knife around, setting for another charge against the djinn. Darkness seemed to cling to him the way that light clung to his opponent, and on their second clash, the man nearly disappeared.

The man fought like no one Blake had ever seen. Even when the djinn dodged a blow and grabbed the hunter, its glowing fists curling around his throat, he never slowed. He drove the blood-soaked dagger in his hand straight into the djinn’s heart whenever he had the chance, his eyes hooded and a twisted, pleased grin on his face.

Twice Blake nearly intervened, and twice Cain turned his hand. The fight flared with the energy of a comet and passed just as quickly. The djinn faltered. The hunter kicked it savagely, putting it on the ground.

Blake found himself standing to his feet. From the mist came a circle of other hunters, closing in on their beaten prey with weapons leveled, caution in their steps that had never shown in the man that now backed away from the centuries-old creature at his feet. One of the hunters was much smaller than the others, and had long dark hair. _A woman_. Blake leaned forward and tried to get a better look. The most surprising thing about her was that she did not seem out of place.

While the rest of the team bound the djinn, an older man with a bald head stepped to the hunter’s side and eyed him critically. The older man pulled him into the light, and Blake’s eyes widened. The man was practically a kid; younger than Blake by at least a few years from the looks of it, but there was something different about him.

The bald man took the kid’s jaw in one hand and turned his head left and the right, inspecting his eyes. Then he handed him a large syringe with a worried look on his face. The tall hunter accepted with a shrug and jammed the needle deep into his thigh and depressed the plunger. He nodded his thanks to the older man, who seemed to take it as a sign that there were no permanent injuries.

Cain began to whine and dropped his belly to the ground, backing away from the log in a similar fashion to how Blake had done it before. Blake shushed him with one hand, angling for a better view of what the other hunters were doing with his contact.

A chill ran down Blake’s spine, the feeling of a flashlight falling across two kids under a set of high school bleachers, and he jerked his head back to the tall hunter. He was standing where Blake’s gaze had left him, but above now-crossed arms glinting eyes were staring through the mist, searching the log and the woods around it hungrily.

There was no way the hunter could see Blake from his position, but his throat tightened anyway. He let the mist curl around him and he sank back into the deep brush with Cain slinking slowly after his heels.

Blake found his steps gaining speed as he backtracked his path, Cain barely a wisp of air at his side. His thoughts raced with his steps, pieces of barely sketched out mysteries clicking into place.

Every hunter worth his salt knew the story. John Winchester’s boy, the one whose name caused whispers in the dark recesses of bars and eyes to narrow on suspicion of acquaintance; the kid that kick-started the Apocalypse a few beers too early, had beaten the devil. Rumor was his brother went down with him. To hear the old guys tell it, all that mattered was that it was over and the Winchesters had finally had the decency to stay dead, and took their cursed blood with them.

No human could have sensed Blake watching from that distance: But there was no rumor that accused Sam Winchester of being human.

When Blake reached his ride, Cain jumped in like he owned the place, and Blake didn’t argue. He hit the gas and headed East, rushing to meet the dawn.

Suddenly plans had changed.

 

**_December, 2010_ **

Blake curled his hands around the white coffee mug and allowed the heat to seep into his fingers. The day had been overcast and dreary, not a ray of sun in sight. It made him tired, and being tired made him sluggish and dull, and those were things he could not afford to be.

Not in this place.

The clock above the bar clicked over to signal that another hour had passed. The music had begun to slow. The patrons had started to shift around. Some gathered their belongings, and some asked for their checks.

The dark-haired woman in the corner that had been eyeing him since he walked in finally made her move. 

Her voice curled through the smoke, passed through molecules of dust, bounced off of invisible radio waves, and threaded through seedy conversations just to reach his ears. He would have turned to answer her for that alone, but it was her bold words that really caught his attention.

“Don’t see many other hunters around here.”

Blake half-turned on the tall bar stool and waved her over, then signaled the bartender with two fingers.

“What’s your name?” She stepped right into his space, not shy at all, like she wanted to peer into his eyes and just learn all of his secrets.

“Blake,” he rasped, and his own voice sounded neglected in his ears. “What’s yours?”

She grinned nice and slow, and she trailed the tip of her finger over the inseam of his jeans.

“Stacy,” she said, just as slow as her grin.

He liked that about her, how she drew out every moment, how she wasn’t afraid of much, and that the things she was afraid of were all things that earned it. She wasn’t like the others. He offered her a small smile in return. “That’s not your real name.”

She bit her lip, toying with him a moment longer before she answered, “You either.”

He laughed. “Real enough for this life. You?”

She nodded. “Gwen.”

His eyes narrowed. “Really? Gwen Stacy?”

Her eyes lit up, and she threw back her head and laughed. “No one ever catches that!”

Blake grinned again, and this time it was genuine. “You kidding? I love Spider Man.”

The woman tending the bar stopped in front of them, coffee pot raised to top off his cup, but Blake shook his head and tipped the mug her way to show it was still full. She raised an eyebrow. “That good, huh?”

Blake chuckled. “Just enjoying the warmth,” he said. He turned a beguiling half smile up to the waitress, who seemed largely unaffected. “Would you bring something for my friend?”

“Whiskey, neat,” Gwen said, her eyes still searching Blake’s face. The woman shrugged, took her coffee pot and whisked away.

Gwen dropped her eyes to trace the inside of Blake’s right forearm, her gaze intense, just like everything else about her. She reached out and pressed two forefingers to the ink of his tattoo. An infinity loop twisting through the confines of an equilateral triangle, centered over a circle and bordered by four compass points.

“What’s this mean?” she asked.

Blake followed her eyes, noting the inner circle, now half the diameter it was the night he first received it. _Two years down, two to go_. He pressed his lips together and moved his hand to cover Gwen’s. “Endless journey,” he said, and she nodded and moved closer to him. Blake pulled her hand away and threaded his fingers through hers.

Before the night ended, Gwen erased any thoughts he had of cold.

Four hours later, Blake rose with the morning sun and pressed a kiss to her shoulder while she slept. He rolled out of bed and scooped up her cell phone, then flipped it open to scan her contacts list.

_Samuel. Christian. Mark. Sam._

Blake took a steadying breath, then cycled farther down the menu to activate her GPS.

He replaced the phone on the nightstand and took in the sight of her one more time, peaceful and soft and skin not touched by blood or death. The next time he saw her, she would probably be all hard edges and on high alert, weapon raised and shoulders squared for battle.

“Sleep tight,” he whispered as he reached for the doorknob, “And be careful.”

Outside, sunlight had started to filter through the top of the treeline behind the motel, illuminating the steam from the fresh thermos of coffee resting on the glass of the T-top. It was his favorite part of the day, when things went to sleep, things woke up, and mist coated the surface of everything like a fine blanket. Everything glistened and was new again for just a while. He lifted the hood of the bird to check the radiator hose that he’d patched and topped off the coolant with a jug from the trunk.

Then he popped open the car door and tossed in his knapsack and gear. The two rifles from under his arm slotted into the built-in holsters low behind the seats.

He heard gravel kick up behind him and he swiveled to see her, hair still mussed and clothes hastily pulled on. The palms of her hands swiped at the thighs of her jeans. Then she stood there in the freezing cold and the dirt, her arms akimbo while she tried not to show how miffed she was that he was leaving. _Going to miss that rear._

“You weren’t going to say goodbye, huh?”

He shrugged into his black ski vest and pulled his ball cap down a little further to hide the glint of the rising sun waking in his eyes. He smiled reassuringly. “Sure we were. I was just, you know, loading up.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “Who is ‘we’?”

His smile extended and he stuck a finger in her face, so that she flinched and drew away, swatting at it. When the grin didn’t waver, she looked behind her.

A dog stood ten paces away, viewing the two of them with curious blue eyes. Its coat was white. Dark grey swathed down its back and tail like a cloak, masking the ears and cheeks into a heart shape. It tilted its head at her and the tail swished gently, silently, one time from side to side. Gwen caught her breath. “She’s beautiful.”

“His name’s Cain,” Blake said with a slight twinge of humor in his voice. “He was my mom’s.”

“That’s an odd name for a dog - but I like it.” Gwen held out her hand but the dog bounded away, making a wide circle to avoid her and leaping through the open window into the passenger side seat. “He lives in your car?”

“Why not? I do,” he grinned openly.

“If he was your mom’s you should let him retire. How old is he, anyway?”

Blake shrugged and grabbed Gwen’s elbow to plant a quick peck on her lips. _Soft and warm._ “I don’t know,” he teased, “He’s never said.”

Gwen blinked at Cain, who licked his lips and yawned at her. Blake pulled down his shades from the top of his cap and gave her one last smile. “Be good, babe. I’ll see you.”

*  


He set camp one day’s ride into the next set of mountains. Blake parked the car at a KOA, grabbed his gear, and hiked with Cain through the woods until he found a place far from prying eyes. Cain eyed him warily as he set up his two-man tent. Blake shook his head and smoothed the big dog’s fur. “We gotta do this, pal. It’ll only take a few days. Then we’ll get back on the road, I promise.” Cain licked his nose in response.

When night fell, Blake dropped his backpack into the grass and lit the Coleman. The lantern swung gently from the branches of a tree. The mottled, leafy sky was full of stars. Cain’s tail swished peacefully against the tent flap.

Blake rolled his eyes. “One free ride in my car and what, you think you own the place? Earn your keep!” Cain whined indignantly and pulled himself to his feet, padding off into the woods without another sound. Blake smiled.

Blake stirred the fire until it was blazing. He pulled off his shirt and let the heat sink into his skin. He liked to watch the fire. Here in the woods, away from prying eyes, he could let it be a part of him.

Blake settled into his worn tan camping chair backwards, hanging his arms over the canvas, a hand-rolled cigarette in one hand and a small wooden tinder box in the other. He tapped the ashes into the box after every drag, wasting nothing.

There was a quiet rustle in the bushes behind him, and he drew a deep breath. “I was wondering if you were gonna show,” he said into the fire. The footsteps drew closer and a man stepped from the woods and into the circle of light. His white hair fell in a long braid down between his shoulder blades. He wore little. A wolf’s pelt spread across his shoulders and dark black stripes ran underneath his eyes. In his hand he carried a bundle of sticks sharpened to fine points. “How’s life, Abe? Met a girl yet? Take up knitting? I’m telling you - you’d be good.”

The ancient man grunted disapprovingly and held out his other hand for the box. Blake snuffed the cigarette out, carefully knocking  the last of the ashes in with the rest, and handed it to him. “Mm,” the Shaman muttered as he smelled the carved wood, lips pressed tightly together. “Tamarack?”

Blake crossed his arms and settled his chin into them, staring at the flames. “Yeah. Old habits die hard.” Abe nodded, chose a stick, and set the rest in Blake’s empty hand. “You’re all work and no play, you know that? Just one more thing, hold on.” Blake stretched down his free hand for his backpack and felt around. After a few seconds he pulled out a thick winter scarf, faded and worn. He wrapped the scarf around his hips above the waistline of his jeans and knotted it firmly over his stomach. Then he resumed his position, with his bare back facing the cool, dark trees.

He blinked up at the Shaman.”Did you just roll your eyes at me? Don’t judge me, okay, I just don’t wanna ruin these jeans.” Abe sighed, and Blake chuckled at the long-suffering sound. “Alright, old friend. Get on with it. I trust you remember how this goes?”

The Shaman nodded firmly, repeating the word. “Tamarack.”

“Yeah,” Blake agreed tiredly. “The one and only.” 

Abe settled the open box into his left hand and guided the sharpened stick to the surface of Blake’s skin with his right. His index finger pressed the point into the base of Blake’s neck until a full drop of blood appeared. Blake closed his eyes and felt the heat of the camp fire ripple across his face, let it soothe away the sting of the primitive scalpel as Abe dragged the point downward.

The minutes dragged on while the Shaman worked, and the steady waves of fresh pain melted into the dull burn of wounds now old, lulling Blake’s senses until he felt like he was somewhere else, watching. Abe took pinches of ash from the tinder box after every new incision and rubbed the fine black substance into Blake’s wounds with a firm hand, grinding the flakes in deep and massaging out residual muscle tension all at once. When a stick became too dull, Blake would supply another. Blake’s blood rolled lazily down his back in stripes, pooling into the scarf’s thick fabric and turning it stiff and brown.

Slowly, the shape of a tree began to form. It curled its bristled limbs into Blake’s muscles, moving with his sinew and flesh as though his body was the breeze that stirred its leaves in the spring. It rooted around his spine, deep into his soul, and became a part of him.

As the Shaman rubbed in the final bits of ash, Blake felt a surge of energy. He flexed his arms and waved his hand through the fire. It kissed him gently, but it did not burn.

Blake turned to regard the man beside him. Abe threw his last stake into the fire and cupped the now empty tinder box with both hands. He raised the box to Blake as an offering with a bow of respect and Blake stood to accept it with the same, trembling slightly from blood loss and fatigue.

Abe stepped closer so that Blake could steady himself by gripping his shoulders, then reached down and wiped his bloody hands on the long ends of Blake’s scarf, a mischievous twinkle in his eye as if to say that perhaps the fabric had been useful after all. Blake snorted a laugh. Abe untied the ruined scarf and threw it into the fire, then helped Blake into his tent, directing him to lay down on his stomach.

The sleeping bag and pillow felt like Heaven, and Blake sank into them gratefully, his eyes closing almost before he made contact. Dimly he could hear Abe’s deep voice, chanting a long-forgotten song, and feel the gentle dab of cool damp cloth pressing around his wounds, cleaning the stain of blood. He let exhaustion overtake him and drifted off beneath the spell.

His dreams were fast and brightly colored, frames of images moving too fast to catch their meanings. There was a woman traveling on a highway alone. He saw a man leveling a rifle and laughing on a corner near a small white church, heard the snap of teeth in the woods and turned to meet intense green eyes over an angry jaw, felt fire rising from a bowl full of tears and sorrow, and he recognized nothing. 

Pain lanced through his back and he fell through the dreams, up and up until his eyes snapped open. He was in the tent, in the woods, and he was safe. The old man was gone.

The source of the sudden pain became all too obvious as Cain grabbed the soft blanket around Blake’s waist with his teeth and pulled it higher, covering the sensitive flesh none too gently.

“Ow,” Blake grumbled into his pillow. He cracked an eye open to glare at the dog, who was watching him with a look of amusement on his face. “And you know what else?” Blake added indignantly, “Just once I’d like to pick out my own tattoo.”

Cain didn’t respond. Blake beat his pillow into submission, tried to ignore the itching burn branching across his back, and went back to sleep.


	2. Book 1: Play Crack The Sky

**_March, 2011_ **

Three months later, thanks to GPS and the layout of downtown Dallas, Blake shot a chimera off of Gwen Campbell’s left flank from a high-rise four blocks away. Then he methodically broke down the M40, packed it up in a hard plastic case, stashed it back at his motel room, and caught a cab across town.

He met with the black van on the outskirts of the city and had the cabbie drop him off a few hundred yards south. Five bodies moved through the shadows. Blake sensed Gwen right away. He started jogging, not trying to hide his presence as he drew nearer.

The shadows tensed and turned his way. His eyes could make out their weapons in the dark, blending perfectly into the blackness as they took aim at his chest. When he was close enough to make it clear that he was headed their way, he raised his arms over his head and waved them back and forth. “Don’t shoot!”

A flashlight turned on, and it shone right into his eyes. “Move along, pal,” came a gruff voice. “This ain’t a charity.”

Blake huffed. “Maybe not, but you sure got some from me. Mind apologizing for screwing up my hunt back there?”

The flashlight lowered hesitantly, and a short man with sandy hair and a beard appeared above the halo. Behind him, Gwen’s face popped out of the back of the van. Blake waved at her, and her mouth dropped open.

A much taller man stepped up from Blake’s right, weapon still at the ready. “Excuse me?”

Blake reached carefully into his pocket and pulled out a hand-rolled cigarette. “Do you mind? Other people’s guns make me twitchy.” The taller guy shrugged. Blake concealed the cigarette behind one hand and lit it, letting the fire build a moment before taking a drag. “Chimera you were tracking,” he drawled around the stem, “Was going to lead me straight to the nest. Now it isn’t.”

The man bristled, but a small hand came over the barrel of his shotgun and pushed it down and away before he could speak. “Blake,” Gwen nodded, “Thanks for the save. This is Christian, Christian, Blake.”

The taller guy stuck out his hand, and Blake shook it. His grip was strong and there was laughter in his eyes. He raised his eyebrows at Gwen suggestively. “You two know each other?”

Gwen pursed her lips together, as if she was contemplating not admitting it. “We’ve met,” she finally offered, turning away. “Come on, we gotta roll.”

She grabbed Christian by the elbow, but he shook her off. “Hold on, I want to know more about your friend.” He looked Blake over thoughtfully, taking careful stock of him. “You always hunt alone, Blake?”

Blake stretched his neck, ducking his eyes low to meet Gwen’s. “When it suits me,” he answered. Gwen’s eyes narrowed, but Blake was pretty sure he saw just a hint of a smile.

Christian reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a piece of motel stationary with a note scribbled on it. He ripped off the letterhead and handed it to Blake. “If you ever thought about contracting out,” he said, “You should swing by before we head out of town. We can always use eyes in the field, and Gwen here makes a mean mac and cheese.”

Gwen flushed and shot him a glare, waved her hand through the air and stalked to the black van.

Blake accepted the paper. “I’ll have to think about it.”

Christian jerked his chin up in a short nod. “Think fast. Once we’re done with the nest here, we’re gone.”

“Sure thing.”

Christian whistled, and the remaining hunters piled into the black van. Blake suppressed a chuckle and the urge to throw an A-Team joke at their rear bumper as they pulled away. Through the tinted glass, he felt Gwen’s dark eyes watching him until they disappeared.

*

  


Blake waited nearly 20 hours before following the address on the motel stationary. When he located their room, he rapped firmly on the door. The click of a pistol and the slide of the deadbolt tumbled softly out into the parking lot, and the door opened a few inches.

Gwen’s loose hair fell across her eyes. She tossed it back, voicing a quiet “Huh” of surprise.

Blake clasped both hands in front of his chest and tried to look earnest. “Hello, ma’am,” he drawled, horribly fake Texas accent soliciting a quirked smile from her, “I’m here about the job interview?”

Gwen shut the door, took the chain off, and opened it again, setting the pistol hammer down before stepping out onto the pavement. She put her hands on her hips and grinned suggestively. “Well look-at-you. Gotta say, I didn’t think you’d be the type to come twice in one day.”

Blake didn’t quite have a rejoinder for that, so instead he placed one hand over his heart. “What? And pass on something as tempting as your mac and cheese? I’m offended.”

She widened her eyes in a comical expression of fake surprise. “Huh. I knew vampires and ghosts are real, but I thought smart blonds were a myth!”

Blake put one hand behind his back and executed a formal bow. “I’m the last of my kind.” Then he turned on the smoulder. “Care to help me repopulate my species?”

Gwen laughed and pressed her hand into his hair, tipping him off balance. “Get inside already. Mac and cheese waits for no man.”

Blake followed her through the suite and into a modest kitchenette. Gwen had a knife strapped to her upper thigh and a shotgun leaning against the wall by the refrigerator. She stretched up onto her tip-toes and opened a small cabinet. Boxes of microwaveable foods filled the shelf. She peeked back over her shoulder at him, and one strand of hair fell across her face. She shrugged it away. “Regular or extra cheese?”

“There’s such a thing as regular?”

Gwen snorted a soft laugh and chose a box. “Not around here, there’s not. Sit wherever. The guys are out running some recon; They’ll be back in a few hours.”

Blake settled against the wall, content to watch her work. “You seem pretty settled in,” he said. “Long case?”

She was biting her lip, concentrating on pouring the milk to just the right line. “What? Oh, sure.” She put the milk back into the refrigerator and wiped her hands on her jeans to rid them of condensation. “There’s a large infestation here. We were looking for the nest, but the guys think they found it this morning.” She wrinkled her nose in mild disgust, then turned back to the stove. “They left me here to _pack_.”

Blake scoffed in mock horror and pushed off of the wall, moving to stand closer, deliberately scanning the room. “Things don’t look very packed to me,” he grinned. He slid his hands onto her hips.

Gwen stirred the noodles and set the ladle down. She turned around without pulling out of his grip, and she smiled that same calculating grin from the bar. “I’m busy just now,” she stated firmly, putting her arms around his neck, “They can pack their own damn gear.”

“Mmhm,” Blake hummed, dropping his head to meet hers, “We’ll show those chauvinist jerks.”

Gwen kissed him, muffling her laugh into his lips. He pulled her slowly into the adjoining room, taking his time, and she followed. When they reached the bed, her hands kneaded down the back of his neck before pressing insistently against his shoulders. Blake raised an eyebrow, then tightened his grip on Gwen’s waist and lifted her, tossing her down into the sheets. She laughed freely and clutched at his T-shirt, tugging him along, and he went.

Her fingers played across the hem of his shirt and she made a stern face, her lips twisting into a frown as he settled down beside her. “This,” she said gravely, “Is no way to behave during a job interview.”

Blake propped his head on up one arm and tried to look ashamed. “I’m sorry, Ma’am,” he countered, and he reached his free hand underneath her shirt, skating across her back until he found the clasp on her bra. He flicked it open one-handed, and she shivered. “Is that better?”

She gestured impatiently to his T-shirt, and he made a show of rolling his eyes before he pulled it off. “Better _now_?”

Gwen nodded smugly. “Oh, hell yes.” She swallowed and scooted closer, running her fingertips down his chest to his stomach and pausing there to catch his eyes. His pulse jumped. Blake bridged the gap and kissed her gently, ran his hand into her hair, brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek. She came alive in his hands.

They burnt the mac and cheese.

Blake woke up alone in a tangle of sheets. He sat up, rubbed a hand over his face and tried to blink the haze out of his eyes. He started to stand, but froze when he realized he wasn’t quite sure where he’d put his pants. He looked around the suite, surprised to see that all of the gear and clothes that had been lying out were gone. He yawned. Something smelled like coffee.

A cabinet door closed behind him, and Gwen’s voice floated through the suite, amused. “Hey, Aurora awakes,” she teased. Blake turned to wrinkle his nose at her and found a steaming mug in his face. “I know it’s not morning, but I figured - you know. Ritual, and all that.”

He accepted the cup with a nod. “Things are packed,” he observed. “You got someplace you need to be?”

The bed dipped and Gwen crossed to his side, wrapping her arms around him from behind. One hand held his clothes, and she pushed them into his lap. “We both do. Christian called and said they confirmed the nest. Gear up, soldier boy. You’re coming with us.”

The warmth and comfort of the last hours started to recede as Blake switched gears, adrenaline and anticipation of the hunt building in its place. He set his coffee down on the bedside table and grinned. “So does this mean I got the job?”

Gwen pulled away, moving her hands to his shoulders, pressing firmly in a quick massage. She huffed a laugh, ignoring his question. “This is new,” she observed, tracing the branches of the Tree. “You must be a fast healer.”

Blake shuddered, biting back the bloom of power where it rose through his chest, willing the Tree to be still beneath her touch. He cleared his throat and stood to pull on his clothes, using the motion as an excuse to hide his face until the taste of ashes cleared. By the time his T-shirt was safely in place, he felt calm again.

“Blake?”

He turned to face her, holding his arms out wide and smiling brightly. “Ready to roll,” he started to say, but then he noticed the strange look on her face. He ignored the nervous flutter in his gut. “What is it?”

“I don’t usually repeat my one-night stands,” she said, sounding a little bewildered.

Relieved, he reached out and gave her a swift hug, cradling her briefly in his arms. He kissed the top of her head and smiled. “I don’t have one-night stands. I told you I’d see you, didn’t I?”

She and shoved him playfully. “You’re a stalker, and I should have shot you on the doorstep.”

He nodded while he retrieved his boots and started to lace them on. “Yep.”

She frowned as though she’d just realized something problematic. “Hey, didn’t you have a dog?”

Blake shrugged. “He liked your vacation idea.”

Gwen nodded, smiling again. “Good. Then you ride with me.”

*

  


They pulled up to the jump point two hours past sunset. The nest was in a condemned packing plant buried in the warehouse district; deserted ever since the owners went bankrupt a few years back. Blake stepped out of Gwen’s car to the feeling of being painted with hundreds of invisible targets. They were out there, watching. More than he had ever thought could still exist in one place. Maybe enough to ensure that a few would survive the coming onslaught.

It didn’t look like anyone else had noticed.

Christian waited for them with the van, and he tossed Blake a pistol and a few extra clips. “Silver,” he grunted. “These things are just Fidos but they can still skin you. That’ll put them down.”

Blake nodded his thanks and asked, “What’s the plan?”

A shorter guy who Gwen had introduced as Mark exchanged an amused glance with Christian, who sniffed and hid a smile.

Blake raised his eyebrows. “Something funny?”

Mark shook his head, and Christian looked between Blake and Gwen fleetingly before answering. “The plan is, you two hang back and pick up the stranglers. We’ve already got a team on the other side of the building, so this is the only other way out. You stay put, you make sure none of them get loose, and you help keep the little lady here company,” Christian said. “We can handle this ourselves.” He turned and headed down the alleyway with Mark and three other men following close behind.

Gwen bristled, but Blake placed a hand on her elbow and shook his head. She glared at him and pulled her elbow free.

“Relax,” Blake whispered once they were out of range, “Follow me.” He reached for her hand, but she hesitated.

“Christian said –“

“I know what Christian said. Do you want to clean up the leftovers, or do you want some action?”

Gwen’s eyes sparked, and she wrapped her fingers through his. He smiled. “Alright then. Up we go.”

Before she could ask what that meant, there was a shout up ahead. The beating of wings dove from the sky, and Blake felt the rush of air as the creature passed him, aiming for Gwen instead. She ducked and fired one shot into the blur, and the chimera spun off into the dark. Blake heard a spray of blood hit the ground. The shot echoed down the alley, and there was an answering rustle down the way that the others had gone; the sound of something big.

Blake tightened his grip on her. “Come on, we gotta move,” he said, and they ran.

*

  


Sam closed his eyes and listened, waiting for the creatures to give themselves away. Hunting like this was inefficient; there were too many people, too many weapons itching to go off. Sam preferred stealth, a clean hunt; blades.

He also preferred an opponent that offered a challenge, but the hunts weren’t his call, and when his Samuel summoned him, he went.

The silver chain slung over his shoulder wouldn’t be any help in capturing the alpha, but if he could take it down first, he might be able to keep it from shifting again. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Behind him Trey and Davis settled, following his lead. Sounds began to filter through the front end of the building. He catalogued them all, marking their positions in his mental grid, picturing Christian throwing open the front door like a Van Damme wannabe and getting pounced in the face by the closest chimera.

Sam could hear them breathing in the dark spaces. There were dozens, maybe a hundred. A small army. It didn’t seem like anyone else had noticed.

Sam’s lips twitched into the ghost of a smile and he took the brass lever in his hand and pressed it, swinging the door wide open.

*

  


Blake watched from their precarious perch on the neighboring roof as both teams approached the building. The moon was nearly full, and they could see clear outlines on the street below. One man in particular caught his attention, and Deja vu gripped him.

“Who is that,” he whispered, shifting closer to Gwen. She was watching through a large pair of binoculars, just as intently focused as he was.

“Sam,” she said, answering him without looking. “Why?”

“Just wondering,” he muttered under his breath.

The flash of a tail whipped around the corner of the warehouse, disappearing inside through a hole in the foundation.

Blake closed his eyes and felt the wind, the taste of the earth, heard the breathing of the woman beside him, heart rate slightly elevated, but not beating as quickly as he knew it could go. He wondered what forms would await the hunters inside. Lions, maybe? Wolves? Or something darker, perhaps.

Chimera were a simple species, more animal than creature. They would not think darkly enough to consider impersonating the hunters themselves. In Blake’s mind, the chimera were closing ranks inside of the packing plant, shoulder to shoulder as they guarded their most precious resource: their leader.

“They’re in,” Gwen said excitedly.

Blake peered through the scope, considering. If he got inside before the chimera sprang their trap he might be able to save a few of them, but the hunters could get hurt. Ultimately that was not his purpose, and he reminded himself to stay focused.

Gunfire rose inside the building, and Gwen grabbed Blake by the elbow. “That’s way too many shots for a couple of monsters,” she said, sounding worried. “We should get down there and help.”

Blake held his hand out for hers, and it earned him an indignant swat and a playful elbow in the ribs. “What am I, two?” They made their way down the fire escape.

*

  


It was as if every shadow in the building had come to life. Sam fired into the mass of bodies until his clip was empty before switching to silver knives. The creatures changed shapes and sizes as they came. Cheetahs turned to owls once their sprints were complete and flew away, spiders crawled into cracks to escape the slaughter. Bleating cries and whimpers filled the building as they fell one after the other, and the furred and feathered masses grew more and more frantic the closer Sam got to the center of the pack. The alpha was nearby, he could feel it.

*

  
They split up. Gwen headed for the front door and for Christian, and Blake blew out a side window and entered the fray undetected. Carnage and blood surrounded him, and his boots stuck to the linoleum floor as he moved.

Blake trailed his fingers along the rotting hall wallpaper and the aged flakes began to burn. The chimera swarmed around him, taking a multitude of forms; eagles’ talons for clawing at the hunter’s eyes, snakes’ fangs to strike at their feet. The roar of a lion shook the unstable walls up ahead. Gunshots echoed all around him as he walked, and creature after creature fell, sizzling from silver-coated holes where their hearts used to be.

Smoke from the spreading fire filled his lungs and he relished it, breathing deeply, accepting the sacrifice the chimera had made, using their life force to feel out their remnants. He followed the heartbeat of the pack to the center of the building.

Bodies of the chimera were piled so high in the center office that Blake could barely edge between them. A crash rumbled through the room, and he found himself staring at Sam’s back. Over Sam’s shoulder, on the far side of the room, stood the alpha.

The final screams of the others were fading as the hunters completed their extermination. The alpha’s eyes were dull with pain, shock and sadness at the slaughter radiating from it in waves. It became a cat, then a bear, then a wolf, angling back from Sam until it was pressed into a corner.

Sam slid the silver chain off of his shoulder, focused intently on the massive beast in front of him. Blake found his finger tightening on the trigger of his pistol. Sam was angling to take the alpha back alive, a living breathing search and destroy machine, but the alpha wasn’t looking at Sam. It was looking at Blake.

These creatures were little more than animals, wildlife. Tracking a lead wasn’t worth letting this creature get slowly torn limb from limb. Blake wasn’t certain where the monsters were vanishing to, but he damn well knew that none of them ever came back.

Blake nodded minutely.

The chimera exploded forward, shifting as it leapt through the air at Sam. In between heartbeats, Blake saw its true form. As it twisted, it bared its throat. Blake pulled the trigger. It dropped.

Later, he explained that he’d turned the corner just in time to see the monster’s fangs coming at Sam’s face, and he had just reacted. Gwen pecked him on the cheek. Christian slugged him in the arm.

Sam pinned him with a carefully appraising stare. Blake held his ground, but he filed it away for later; Sam was different than the rest of them.

Blake let Gwen drop him off at his motel and he told her goodbye, making her promise to call him if they ever needed an extra hand. She wrote her number on the inside of his wrist with a permanent marker and told him to call her sooner if he needed any kind of hands at all. He raised his eyebrows and grinned suggestively.

Blake let her go, but he really didn’t want to.

Once the smell of her shampoo had faded from the collar of his jacket, Blake made his way back to the packing plant. He piled 37 corpses into a single room. They seemed smaller in death. Cain whined at his side, expressing sorrow over the fallen creatures with a soulful howl. Blake raised his hand and reduced them to cinder. He refilled the tinder box carefully with their ashes, wiped his hands on his jeans, and tucked the precious resource away.

After that, he was in.

**_September, 2011_ **

Blake pulled into the Campbell compound late in the afternoon to find it mostly deserted. A bored looking man opened the gate for him and he drove through, unable to shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. There were usually more checkpoints, for one thing.

Blake tried to shake off his paranoia. He hadn’t visited since Mark’s death, and he knew the attack had hit the family pretty hard. Gwen hadn’t said as much, but he could hear it in her voice when she called to tell him. Things had been different since then, more strained. Sam had come around less. The Campbells knew how to cover their tracks well. In all the months that Blake had shadowed them, he still had not been able to learn what they were doing with the monsters.

Their most recent conversation had been brief, but she had finally said the one thing he’d been waiting to hear. _We’re closing in on the alpha vampire. Play your cards right and when the time comes, I just might let you know._ The whole team had been out scouting for weeks. Considering the circumstances, Blake was surprised to find Samuel still at home.

“So tell me,” Samuel was saying as he motioned for Blake to take the chair in front of his desk, “What brings you all the way out here?”

Blake sat. “Got bored chasing a dead end. Figured it was time for a visit.”

Samuel nodded. “Happens to the best of us. I’d hate to see you get rusty, though. Heard you took quite a shot at my niece back in Texas.”

Blake gave the expected laugh at the old man’s double meaning, then shrugged. “I know my way around a rifle. Got kind of a rep for long distance kills.”

Samuel raised his eyebrows. “Oh yeah? You ex-military, son?”

Blake held the old man’s gaze and answered evenly. “In another life. How about yourself?”

Samuel’s eyes crinkled at the edges, maybe because Blake had hit the mark; maybe because he would have said it himself if Blake hadn’t thought of it first. “No, I never was. I was raised in the life like my father, like my grandfather. It’s in my blood.” Samuel tilted his head to one side. “How about you?”

Blake spread out his palms and shrugged. “I was just a kid with a gun and a serious hard-on for setting stuff on fire. Seemed like a good fit at the time.”

Samuel smiled a little, nodding knowingly. Some things just came with the territory.

There was a firm knock on the door and Blake sat back in his chair as Samuel called, “It’s open.”

A dark-haired man stuck his head through the door and announced, “We’re back,” then vanished. The scent of sulfur lingered in the air where the man had stood.

Blake stared after him, stunned. _Demon_.

Sudden heat flared in Blake’s gut. He counted his heartbeats in between breaths, willing the searing anger down. He slid his chair back from the desk, looking from Samuel to the man’s retreating form and back again.

Samuel frowned. “Something wrong, son?”

“Where’s Gwen?” Blake demanded, more harshly than he’d planned.

Samuel chuckled nervously, confused. “On a supply run with Christian. What’s the matter with you?”

He hissed his question quiet and low, so that no one else would hear. “What did you do?”

Samuel’s eyes hardened, but they didn’t hold the flare of understanding Blake was expecting to see. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Samuel said carefully, warning evident in his tone.

“You said your father was a hunter. If he was any good, he’d have taught you a thing or two about keeping demons out,” Blake’s voice took an accusing edge. “And your grandson knows more about stopping demons than anyone on this planet. So what did you do? Are you working for them?” His hands clenched into fists and he whispered, ice cold, “Is that where all the monsters go?”

All color drained rapidly from the older man’s face, but his body went rigid with anger. “What would you know about it, _boy_?”

Blake answered evenly, hoping the man would hear the truth in his words. “I know enough. I know that by doing this, you’ve signed your family over to the devils you serve.”

Samuel’s eyes flashed. “You don’t know anything about my family. Get out.”

Blake blinked, surprised at the apparent lack of remorse. Cold realization doused his anger, and he felt a pang of twisted sympathy for the older man. _He doesn’t know_.

“You’re already losing them, Samuel,” Blake said sadly. “Just look around you.”

Samuel’s face grew livid, and he slammed his fist into his desk hard enough to rattle the wall fixtures. “I _protect_ my family! Who the hell are you to come onto my property and accuse me of –“

Blake’s patience snapped. “Fool them all you want. Maybe you can even fool yourself, but you can’t fool me.” He moved closer, leaning across the desk right into Samuel’s space. “Mark my words, the day you forget that she’s your blood? The day you decide to choose the dead over her? You remember this advice. Stop and check your starboard first before you make that move. Because I’ll be there, Samuel. And I’ll have a bullet with your name on it.”

Samuel flinched took an involuntary step back. “Who are you,” he ground out. “Why did you come here?”

“You want to know the truth? I came here,” Blake seethed, “For _my_ family. But it looks like I’m gonna have to save yours, too.”

He left Samuel sputtering in his office.

*

  
“Answer your damn phone, _come on_.”

 _Please enjoy the music while your party is reached_.

Blake’s fingers curled around the phone until he felt the crack of plastic.

_Sugar, oh honey honey, you are my candy girl …_

“Gwen, come on, babe. Don’t do this to me, be there.”

_Honey, oh sugar sugar …_

The line picked up. “Gwen! Where are you, are you at the compound? Listen, I need you to -”

“Easy, loverboy,” Christian’s voice floated down through the line, “Gwen’s not here right now.” He chuckled, but it wasn’t Christian’s usual light-hearted laugh. “Figured it out, did you? Took you long enough.”

Blake punched the drywall above his bedside table, and it splintered under his fist. “You demonic son of a bitch,” he started.

The demon yawned loudly. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, we all moved in back when Mark died - easiest way to keep anyone else from turnin’ corpse on us, I guess. Gwen, man - she’s a piece of work, I’ll give you that. I can see why you got attached. She’s got that whole bitch-in-heat thing goin’ for her, you know?”

“Why don’t you go f-”

“ _Relax_. She isn’t one of us … yet. But I figure, this handy little GPS of hers should go - can’t have outsiders snooping around in family affairs.” There was a sigh on the other end of the line. “See, the thing is, Blake - I can’t quite figure you out. What’s the pull here? She’s plucky, but I doubt you’d be this far up _Samuel’s_ ass just for a chance to get laid.”

Blake stared murderously at his own reflection. “Where is she?”

“She’s with her _family_ \- what’s left of them, anyway. And as long as you play your cards right and keep away from her, she’ll never know they’re dead. Now. We’re going to let her know that we’ve heard the tragic news of your untimely death, and I’m going to trust you not to pull a Jesus. You do, and I might just decide to take her for a spin of my own. Got it?”

The line went dead.

_And what do we do when we see a demon?_

_We fight._

Blake staked out the Campbell place from the foothills nearby, but the compound was on lock-down. He put his count at nearly 30 suits demons, and they patrolled the place 24-7. The few women and children on property were keeping indoors. Glimpses of Gwen were few and far between, and there was no way to tell from his position if she was alright. The temptation to walk in and kill them all was nearly overpowering.

Cain growled softly as Christian came into view, just a speck in the cross hairs of Blake’s scope. “I know, buddy, I want to end them too. But if we play our cards right, we still might be able to kill three birds with one stone.” Cain sighed and dropped his head into the dirt. Blake winced. “Yeah, sorry. Not funny.”

Blake checked the shrinking circle on his arm. _Nearly three down._ He was running out of time.

**_October, 2011_ **

It was about mid-day when hunters began gathering at the compound. Some Blake had seen before, some he hadn’t. He thumped Cain and let out a small shout of relief. It was a task force. Samuel had found the alpha he’d been tracking, and the hunt was on.

Blake left the hills and edged deeper into the valley, risking a closer look. Jeeps and trucks and SUV’s flocked through the gates as the afternoon wore on. A few hours after dark, a deep rumble caught his attention.

A classic black car pulled into the drive. Blake didn’t recognize the driver, but when the doors opened, Sam Winchester stepped out of the passenger’s side. Blake frowned. He never figured Sam for working with a partner. The guy usually showed up alone, slaughtered things, and then went back to wherever it was he lived in between hunts. Months of brief contact with Sam had provided no information about what made him tick - or why he was still ticking at all. The driver seemed tense and angry, and Sam followed behind him quietly as they entered the building that housed Samuel’s office.

Blake retreated from his position. He would get some rest in the precious few hours until dawn. Samuel wouldn’t make a move until first light. He would get answers then.

*

  
The fight for the alpha was fast and brutal, and when it was over the bodies of hunters lay tangled with the bodies of the vampires across the manor lawn. Sam followed pattern and left right after the hunt, joining the stranger in the black car.

Blake tailed the van to a warehouse in the middle of nowhere and watched the hunters offload the alpha, but they seemed to be alone. He didn’t see Gwen.

Day fell into night. Blake dozed lightly on the hillside. When the wind was very quiet he could hear the _snap_ of electricity coming from inside the warehouse, but outside, nothing moved. Cain nudged his arm, hackles rising, and pulled him from the clutches of an almost-nap. Blake followed the dog’s eyes down the drive.

The black car that Sam had ridden in before was winding down the path. For a moment Blake entertained the idea that Sam was the contact, but he dismissed it out of hand. The car had no headlights, and it was moving at a crawl.

Sam and the man who had been with him that morning crept into the warehouse with as much stealth as Blake had ever seen Sam use. “Trouble in paradise, you think?” Blake asked Cain, but the dog didn’t answer.

It didn’t take long for gunfire to kick up inside. By the time Blake made it down from the ledge and reached the back entrance, everything had quieted. He walked every inch of the warehouse. Inside, he found a wicked looking cage that reeked of dead man’s blood, but no sign of the vampire it used to hold. Cain growled at the cage and sniffed the air. The warehouse still smelled like sulfur. “Guess you need a one-way ticket for that ride,” Blake told the dog. He resisted the urge to melt the cage back into liquid, turn it into bullets, and put it into Samuel’s hide.

He stepped out the front door just in time to see the black car’s tail lights pull away. The Campbells’ van was gone.

*

  
None of the hunters came back to the Campbell place, and by the time a week had gone by Blake was chafing with impatience. He flipped open his cell and scrolled down the numbers, searching for one that may still be connected. His thumb hovered over the button that said ‘Sam’. He blew out a sigh. _First time for everything_.

Sam’s voice answered on the second ring. “Who is this?”

Blake rubbed his forehead. “Sam? Hey, it’s Blake, from -”

“Texas. What do you want?”

“Listen - I know you don’t know me, and you have no reason to believe me, but I need your help. I’ve been trying to find Gwen, she’s -.”

Sam’s voice dropped several octaves. “She’s with Samuel. If you see that son of a bitch, you put a bullet in his brain for me.”

Blake blinked. “What?”

“Last we knew he was chasing down some big game in Colorado, but I mean it. Watch your back.”

Blake leaned against the hood of his car. “Man, that is such a relief. I could use your help, he’s been working for some demon and -”

“His name’s Crowley,” Sam said, cutting him off, “And if I could find him, I’d send him straight back to Hell.”

Blake stood back up again. “How do you know his name?”

Sam snorted in disgust. “Because we’re working for him, too.”

The line went dead. Blake stared at the phone, gears turning fast in his head. If the vampire he sought was with this Crowley, then that was where Blake needed to be. He could think of only one way to get there. He flexed his shoulders, drawing a deep breath against the Tree. Its fragile leaves rustled, bolstering him. It was nearly complete now. It would have to be enough.


	3. Book 1: Play Crack The Sky

**_December, 2011_ **

For the most part, the roads that wound through the valley of Black Forest were flat and smooth. Blake gave the gas pedal an extra push. The sun’s rays pierced the open Colorado sky and warmed the red leather seats. The wind nipped at his nose and stung his eyes, but he didn’t care. A clear blue sky and an open road were his ideal environment. He released the wheel to rub his gloved hand through Cain’s thick fur and laughed at the look on his companion’s face. “Just like flying, huh buddy?”

Piercing blue eyes grinned at him for a moment, and then returned to their proper place on the roof side of the open t-top.

Blake pushed hard for the mountain line, ticking off the minutes until sunset in his head. When the looming peaks of the Rockies began to block out the sun, he pulled off onto a small private road. Snow was piled high down the drive, and Blake was forced to stop several times to clear it.

Finally, the car came to a stop beneath a copse of trees that leaned sideways into the rock. Blake popped open the passenger door for Cain. “End of the road,” he said, and he snapped his fingers and gestured to the mountains. “You been hitchhiking long enough.” The dog regarded him seriously. “I know you think it’s stupid,” Blake sighed, “But it’s the only plan I’ve got. One does not simply walk into Mordor, right?”

Cain huffed, then jumped out of the car without ceremony and trotted off into the foothills, not bothering to look back. After a few moments his white fur blended him into the snow bank, and he disappeared. Blake shook his head in disbelief, and then raised his voice in a yell loud enough to echo off of the rocks. “Hey! You don’t have to be like that!”

Blake climbed out himself, taking a moment to cement the red leather and the sleek white paint with the blazing Firebird streaking across the hood into his mind. Of all the cars he’d had occasion to own, this one was his favorite.

He shrugged out of his bomber jacket and pressed it into the back seat, then checked the weapons caches that held his rifles. He pulled two knives; one from a wrist sheath and one from his boot. Last, he pulled a chrome .45 from his side holster. He tucked them all away with the rest of the arsenal.

When he seemed completely unarmed, he put the keys on the dash and shut the door. He didn’t bother to lock it; if anyone was going to find her, he’d rather they take everything outright than break a window, anyway.

He threw a white tarp over the car, turned back to face the way he’d come, and started walking.

*

Gwen rode shotgun in the large black van, but only because she had nowhere else to go. She held her rifle tight these days, knuckles gripping the hilt nearly to bruising from the constant flow of anger and hurt pouring through her veins, her family’s blood, like acid.

There were bodies in the back of the truck, bodies that used to be men she loved, people she thought she knew.

If she’d jumped on the hunt that led to this ride with Samuel, it was because she wanted to draw them out as far as she could from the few people she had left. As far as she was concerned, this first trip to Crowley’s twisted zoo would also be her last. If she was going down, she was going to go down fighting.

The van pulled into a long stretch of open road and Gwen had to shield her eyes from the sudden glare of the afternoon sun. Beside her, Samuel shifted forward in his seat, squinting for a better glimpse of something far away. “What the Hell…”

Gwen pulled up a pair of binoculars from the floorboard and peered through them, instincts roaring to high alert. Her eyes focused on a patch of road just at the other end of the horizon, where heat rising from the asphalt met the biting winter cold, sending ripples through the air.

She set the binoculars back down. “It looks like a fire.” Gwen bit her lip and spared Samuel a sideways glace. “Think we should find another road?”

“No,” Samuel said firmly. “We keep going until -” A burning arc of light launched from the horizon, hurtling into the air between them with astonishing speed. “Oh, now wh-”

“Turn!” Gwen grabbed for the roof with her free hand, bracing herself for impact. The van swerved left off of the road, going up on two wheels. Gwen shut her eyes as the blast flashed past the window, intense heat from the flare singeing her skin.

Samuel wrestled with the van until it spun to a stop and threw open his door. He grabbed Gwen by the sleeve of her jacket and pulled her out behind him. She scooped up her rifle on the way, and when she hit the ground she quickly chambered a round. She moved to the back of the van and ducked down for cover while Samuel opened the lock on the door. The paint down the right side of the van was bubbling, blistered from the heat.

“Where’d it go,” she heard Samuel demanding of the demon, “What the Hell was that thing? Is this your boss’s idea of a joke?”

The thing wearing her cousin jumped out with a terse remark for the others to stay inside. It ducked down over her position, putting a hand on her shoulder, its fingers sending a slow caress down her collarbone. Her skin crawled.

Another flash streaked across the road, pounding into the side of the van with enough force to shatter the passenger side windows. Gwen threw herself clear of the van entirely, moving free from the grip of the demon and out into the open.

“Gwen! Get back here!” Samuel was pulling a pistol from the waistband of his jeans as he shouted, and he leaned around what used to be Christian to search the horizon for their attacker.

Gwen took another step back, certainty bubbling up through the shocked fog of the last few months. She’d prayed for a distraction; her prayers had been answered. This could be her only chance to take the demon down.

She raised her voice, willing away the trembling sound of fear. “I’m going to check the others!” Samuel nodded but his back was already to her, and Christian was only two steps behind.

The ground around them started to shake, and Gwen sprinted for the back of the van and flung the door open. Bright white light streamed in on the demons inside, and on the alpha that they guarded. Gwen dropped her rifle and grabbed for the camel pack of holy water, snagging it with her right hand. She slung the strap over her shoulder and palmed the modified pump with her left, flipping the _on_ switch to send pressure into the line. There was a sound like roaring wind and the bright light intensified with the crackle of engulfing flames. Over the roar, Samuel shouted. “Gwen, get down!”

Gwen spun around, aiming the nozzle in her hand like a weapon, and froze. “Blake?”

*

Blake held the fire, _finally_ , in his hands.

The flames licked up his forearms and danced in the dark panes of his sunglasses, fraying the edges of his t-shirt sleeves but not blistering his skin. The rush of release tried to consume him, tempting him higher along the power’s crest. The branches of the Tree burned and crackled underneath his skin, offering more, unimaginably more, and Blake struggled to ignore the pull.

Gwen’s voice, stunned and afraid, silenced the temptation immediately. He couldn’t afford to hurt her. Short waves of impossible heat rolled through the air between them, turning the world to mirrors and glass. Gwen was flushed from the heat, and her eyes watered, lulling her into a daze. Her finger rested on the spray gun’s trigger. She repeated his name, louder, as though testing a mirage. “Blake?”

 _Snap her out of it,_ he told himself, _get her moving._ He grinned at her over his Ray-Bans, trying to channel Val Kilmer fresh off the set of Top Gun, and she started to laugh; a strained, disbelieving sound. Then he raised one hand to aim it over her shoulder and into the depths of the van. The demons behind her growled and came to their feet.

“Hey babe,” Blake said, keeping his voice as easy and casual as if they were out for drinks, “Mind stepping out of the way? I need to talk to the Hell-spawn Samuel's been playing Pirates of Dark Water with. There’s my girl.” Gwen opened her mouth, no doubt to retort that she wasn’t his girl, but as he moved past her she smoothly stepped aside. Blake breathed a sigh of relief and peered into the van, searching.

Deep inside the van lay the Alpha, bound with bronze shackles and chained to the floor, and Blake felt its pulse thrumming through the fire in his veins. It had been drugged, but the drugs wouldn’t hold it for long. The wing beats of a thousand insects filled the air, plague and famine and promise of destruction in the undertones of the Alpha’s true voice. The demon’s eyes widened, amazed, but Blake heard a call in the swarm. _Brother,_ it hummed and buzzed, settling beneath his skin, _Leave this place._

Blake shook his head. There was no way in hell.

The four demons standing guard before the Alpha gained their footing, tripping over each other in an effort to escape the heat. The first demon to clear the door brandished a pistol at Blake, and Blake flicked his wrist and engulfed the demon in a ball of flame, incinerating it.

Off to his left side, Gwen was watching. When the ashes of the demon fell like powdered rain through the rippling heat and onto the asphalt, something like hope flared in her eyes.

On his right side, Samuel crouched around the open door, his own gun trained between Blake’s eyes. “What are you?” His voice was steady and low, angry. Desperate. “What do you want?”

Blake raised his hand to his face, and the fire crawled across his cheeks and through his hair as he pulled his sunglasses away. The fire flared to life behind the blue of his eyes, and he pinned Samuel with a single, deadly stare, letting the frost in his voice counter the heat in the air. “For you to let my people go, naturally.”

Gwen raised the spray nozzle again, but she didn’t fire. Instead she backed away from Blake, and he let her go. Whatever she had decided, it wasn’t to try to stop him. Blake hoped she was clear, but he couldn’t spare a glance to look.

Samuel spared a glance towards the van and the rakshasa locked inside. Panic flooded his features. Blake looked forward to increasing that panic. He raised both hands this time, leveling them at the back of the van. Heat built around him as he charged the flame, holding it inside until he couldn’t hold it anymore. 

The fire exploded from Blake’s hands and poured into the back of the van, engulfing the three demons and the alpha still inside. The demons went up in three bright blazes. Samuel opened fire and Blake laughed, barely sparing the hunter a glance as the bullets reached the maelstrom around him. Unable to pass through the heat they turned to liquid, falling harmlessly to the ground. The smell of burning flesh and charred paint and metal filled the air.

The rakshasa stirred, unharmed from the assault, and rose slowly to stand inside the flames. Its multifaceted eyes glittered, reflecting the colors back in a shower of light. Blake exhaled and let the fire die down. The alpha stepped forward. There was a bloody grin on its fangs. It tipped its head in deference to Blake, and Blake nodded back, breathing hard and suddenly tired from the effort. The scraping of pointed legs and the click of pinchers grated against his ears. The alpha tilted his head. _We go,_ it rasped.

Blake shook his head minutely, and the rakshasa’s eyes snapped with anger. Blake called the cooling fire back inside, and it curled there like an obedient pet. He had no intention of leaving. The rakshasa shrieked, an empty, despairing sound, and vanished.

From behind Blake, Christian’s voice rang through the sudden silence. “Enough with the light show. Stand down, now.”

Samuel snarled and leveled his gun over Blake’s shoulder. “Gwen!”

Blake spun and turned his back on Samuel.

The demon wearing Christian had Gwen it its arms. One hand was clamped around her mouth, and one held a gun to her head. The steel of the barrel dug into her temple. Gwen’s eyes were wide as she struggled for control, but the demon’s power surrounded her and held her firm.

“Shhhhh,” Christian crooned into her ear. Her arm began to rise, shaking as she fought. Her finger, still wrapped around the trigger of the spray gun, began to tighten. “There’s my girl,” he whispered.

Rage gripped Blake, and the blaze started jumping back to life, more red than white. “Let her go!”

“Uh-uh,” Christian warned, grinding the gun harshly into her skin. “Move and I’ll kill her. You’re fast, but not as fast as the time it would take for this bullet to turn her skull to Jell-o.”

Samuel yelled something in protest, but Blake was watching Gwen. He dropped his hands, and the fire extinguished as completely as though it had never been. Gwen blinked in surprise. It was nearly nightfall, and the wind was cold. Now that the roar of the blaze was gone, the sudden chill seeped into his bones. Gwen’s eyes shone in the sunset light, and Blake mouthed the words _I’m sorry._

The demon took its hand off of her mouth and placed it over her hand instead, pulling against the trigger of the pressure washer to within a hair’s breadth of fire. Blake took a deep breath and braced himself for impact.

A shot rang out from behind him, and numbness blossomed through his left shoulder and into his chest. Blake’s eyes flared and widened, slow realization spreading through his body with the shock wave. Creeping cold began to turn to pain, and he dropped to his knees.  
Samuel approached him from behind and pressed his own gun into the base of Blake’s skull. Samuel’s voice shook. “Alright, he’s down, now let her go, damn it!”

Christian chuckled and his lips grazed the base of her neck. Gwen’s eyes closed and all color drained from her cheeks at the demon’s touch. Blake’s eyes narrowed, flashing with anger even while swimming in pain. He felt every beat of his heart as it pumped blood through the new exit, but he was too charged with hatred to slow it down.

The demon pulled the pistol away from Gwen’s temple, but his grip on her hand tightened over the spray nozzle control. “I think it likes you.” Christian scoffed. “Say goodbye to your boyfriend,” he added, and then he used Gwen’s hand to pull the trigger.

Holy water blasted Blake right in the face, ripping loose a scream of agony. Everything turned white and he clawed at his eyes and gasped, struggling for air. Steam rose in mighty billows into the sky, cloud after cloud of it, thick and searing. The stream of water dipped to Blake’s chest, turned red where it hit blood, found the bullet hole in his shoulder. Blake’s screams doubled, echoing through the valley, inhuman shrieks of pain.

He tried to block the stream with his good arm and the liquid sank through to bone, rooting out his inner fire at the core. The melted ground around him turned into a puddle, and the water started to boil. Barely able to move, or even to think, he reached for her.

*

“Blake!” Gwen threw back her elbow, surprised to find the demon’s power broken, and connected with Christian’s nose. He grunted in surprise, and she dove for the nozzle and tried to wrest it from his hands.

“Gwen, stop!” Samuel’s hands gripped her shoulders, pulling her roughly away and gathering her into his arms. “Don’t look, shh, I’m sorry.”

“Get off of me! Let us go! Screw you!”” She flailed against him, striking him in the chest, his arms, his jaw.

Samuel just pulled her in tighter, ignoring her blows. He looked to the demon. “What is it?”

Christian moved the jet lower, and Blake crumpled to the ground beneath the stream, barely moving now. “Dunno,” the demon answered. “But it’s a hell of a monster. Boss’ll take it.” It threw Gwen a sneering, lascivious smile. “Thought you didn’t go for monsters.”

Gwen’s vision swam with tears and bile rose in the back of her throat, unexpected and strong. Her shoulders heaved and Samuel released his hold on her. What little was left of her lunch sprayed all over his shoes. Samuel sighed. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said. “There was no way you could have known.”

Gwen stared at the shoes and drew a deep breath. The taste of vomit was nearly enough to make her hurl again, but she forced herself to look at Samuel instead. He had leaned down to her level and his eyes brimmed with sympathy, a look reserved for the memory of the daughter he once had. The daughter who grew up to sell her own son to the devil - the daughter that Samuel was willing to let Gwen’s family die for.

She spit in his face.

Samuel’s eyes went dark. He stood tall, wiped his face with the back of his hand, and squared his jaw. “Fine,” he said. “If that’s what you want.” He stepped around her. He rinsed his shoes in the small river of water trickling down Blake’s side. The steam had slowed to wisps of thickened air, and Blake wasn’t screaming anymore.

“Can you keep it pinned down?” The demon nodded. “Good. Load it up. Hopefully this thing still drives.”

Christian shut off the pump and walked to the front of the van to look inside. “Cab’s okay,” he called back. “There’s some rope up here. If we keep it wet, it should hold him.”

Samuel grunted and trained his gun on Blake’s still form.

Gwen flinched, biting back a scream, hoping that he wouldn’t, that somewhere in there was the man that took her in, the man she trusted, the man that gave her a home.

Samuel pulled the trigger and put another bullet straight into Blake’s right thigh at point blank range. Blake jerked like a man convulsing and went completely motionless, and he collapsed face-first into the steaming pool.

Gwen sprinted for Blake. Her jeans caught and ripped on shards of melted asphalt as she skidded in the mud, and his blood washed hotly over her hands as she tried to apply pressure to the wound. She pulled his head into her lap.

“Gwen. Get away from him.” Samuel’s voice was angry and hard.

“No,” she rasped. The holy water was scalding, and she worked to pull Blake out of the puddle and onto drier ground. Tears began to flow freely down her cheeks. “You’re working for a _demon_. You let them kill everyone! You’re the monster, not him. _You are_!”

Blake wasn’t moving. Samuel shifted his weight above her, and she heard him sigh. “Thirty seconds, you hear me?”

She nodded.

Samuel went to join Christian at the front of the van, and they were alone.

“Blake, answer me. Blake?” Gwen brushed his hair back and dried his face with her jacket sleeve. He was cold to the touch, but he was breathing. She didn’t know what he was, but in that moment, she realized that she had already associated Blake with fire, with warmth. “Blake?”

His eyes fluttered open, and a slow smile spread across his face. “Hey. Candy girl,” he breathed.“Was lookin’ for you.You alright?” When she nodded he echoed her nod, letting his eyes slip closed again in exhaustion.

Gwen leaned closer, speaking fast and low. “I have to get you out of here. They’ll torture you at that place. You don’t know what goes on there. Crowley will kill you.”

Blake nodded again, cracking one eye back open. He raised a shaking hand to her cheek and wiped away her tears. “Don’t cry,” he said.

“Blake, they’ll _kill_ you.”

He scoffed, setting off a deep cough that bubbled up from his chest. “Told you I was the last of my kind,” he quipped. Gwen opened her mouth to protest, but his hand found hers, and his grip was startlingly strong. “Gwen,” he said, and his voice seemed even stronger. “Don’t worry. Run back the way you came. You’ll find help.”

“I don’t even know who you are,” she whispered. “ _What_ you are.”

Blake smiled. “Go,” he said. “I’ll see you.”

His stare drew her in, and his fingers burned against her skin, and she believed him.

Samuel’s footsteps sounded from the side of the van. Gwen pressed a kiss to Blake’s forehead, reached under the van for her discarded rifle, and ran like hell.

*

  


Blake was losing his bearings as the van limped down the highway, taking turn after turn. He could sense the demon Christian sitting next to him in the dark, and he knew that any sudden move on his part would end painfully. His wrists were bound tightly to his ankles, stretching his arm in a way that pulled at the bullet wound in his shoulder. Holy water soaked through the ropes and sizzled against his skin. Blood from the gunshots pooled steadily out onto the metal floor.

Shadows crept into the edges of his vision. The branches of the tree across his back laced deep into his muscles, reaching for his veins, burning as they sank deep enough to take control of his body. Blake’s heart rate dropped dangerously low, but he didn’t fight it. The lines etched into his skin began to burn, then spread blessed numbness as restorative power began to flow. He sighed in relief and let the fire fade away with the pain, embers to be rekindled only when the time was right. Blake fell asleep underneath the Tree with the warm valley wind caressing his cheek.

He woke with a jolt, pain lancing through his knees, to find that the van had stopped and he had been dumped unceremoniously in the dirt. The ropes were still in place and he swayed, off balance. Two strong hands grabbed his shoulders to catch him, and he blinked as he tried to focus. Everything was swimming, but through the haze Blake recognized two blacks suits, and he realized that he could smell them in the air, sulphur under rotting skin; demons.

Samuel’s tall frame came in to view, and there was murder in his eyes. “Did you think you could just walk into my family?” When Blake didn’t answer, Samuel leaned down and grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling Blake’s chest forward against the demon’s iron grip. Blake’s lungs screamed for air, and he struggled for shallow breaths against the pressure. The older hunter’s voice dropped to an icy whisper. “Thought you could put your filthy hands all over my niece? I’ve got news for you, freak,” he spat the words, “You’re a dead man.”

Samuel forcefully released Blake, throwing him back to the demons with a snarl. Blake gasped, gathering as much air as the pain would allow. Blake whispered something, and Samuel put a hand to his own ear. “Didn’t quite catch that.”

Blake mustered the strength to raise his eyes to Samuel’s. He smiled. “I … _said,”_ he panted, “It takes one to know one... Grandpa.”

Samuel’s face flushed with anger, and he leveled a vicious kick at Blake’s midsection. The point of his boot connected, and Blake felt the snap of bone echo through his ribcage. Everything flared white. Blake coughed up something wet into the dust. Distantly he heard Samuel walking away. One of the demons placed a rough sack over his head, and he felt himself being lifted and dragged. Pain bloomed across his middle and into his chest.

Blake was dropped unceremoniously into a tight space. A strong smelling liquid was splashed onto the sack, and the door above him slammed shut. “Great start, genius,” he muttered to himself, “Gotta love it when a plan comes together.”

The engine of the demon’s car started up somewhere off to his right. The chemical soaking into the sack burned his nostrils. Blake choked and sputtered, turning his head away from the smell as best as he could, but whatever drug they’d used was already taking effect. His limbs grew heavy, and his eyes fluttered shut.

The car rolled on, each mile taking Blake one step closer to Crowley’s headquarters. He closed his eyes and focused on trying to conserve his energy. Where they were taking him, Crowley would do a lot more than push him around.

Within minutes, the world faded away in the haze, taking Blake’s pain with it.

*

When he woke up, all he could remember was that he had been standing for a very, very long time. Both arms were asleep from being cuffed in wide metal bands and strung above his head on thick chains. The only way to rest his burning leg and sore back was to hang on his hands for a while, which tore into the muscles in his shoulder and splayed out his ribs past the point where he could breathe.

It felt like a freaking sauna in this joint, wherever _this_ was. Two bright spotlights hung from opposite corners of the room so that no matter which way he turned, everything was whited out. Only shadows moved past him in the room, dark blotches on a narrow horizon as they made noises to distract him, made him twist toward them defensively and hiss at the pain from the reopened wounds.

The solace of the tree provided little relief now. With each breath, searing pain spasmed through his back, trembling against flesh that gaped in long, precise cuts. Muscle memory told him that whole days of Abe’s work had been lost; that one hour’s idle tracing had carved out the entire tree. Even worse was that the bastard had good tools, and the spellbound blade that must have been used had rendered what was left of the mark inert.

Blood slicked the floor. His bare feet slipped in it as he caught the sound of a low whistle and rotated to ready himself for the next onslaught. Out of the corner of one swollen eye, he could barely see the inside of his arm. The circle had always tightened in steady degrees over the years, but now it had shrunk vastly smaller in hours. The black halo had grown much thicker as it clung to the outer edges of the infinity symbol and vibrated. _Negative, Ghost Rider, the pattern is full._

“It’s truly amazing to me,” said a man in a suit, “that anything - even such a thing as you - would be able to withstand so much.”

A punch to his ribs sent shudders and dry heaving through his chest. Burning rhythms in his blood clawed their way to the surface to heal him, but stopped short and shrank away when it reached the barrier of moisture in the air.

Blake could hear the voice but not feel the malice. It was just a monotone, an inclination of syllables. As the circle tightened, he fought the process of disassociation. Bone and flesh grew numb enough that his mind edged toward surrender: this place would kill him and give the demons everything they wanted... if only they knew what they had. He took a few deep breaths of the dense air despite the pain and tried to focus. He couldn’t go now. He needed to buy time.

“Can I have a drink of water?” Blake pleaded, with his best gruff voice and his eyebrows held in a pitiable furrow.

“Oh, that’s hilarious. Endearing, in fact. I think I might have some here.” Crowley twisted off the cap of a flask and tipped it towards Blake’s lips.

Blake twisted his mouth to the side before the pain sliced into the side of his cheek, and he shook against it.

“Awww, quite wasteful,” Crowley objected, “I thought you were thirsty.”

“Not for holy water,” he clarified. He bent his head low and shook again.

Crowley took a sip and smacked his lips. “It isn’t scotch, but I hardly understand the revulsion.”

Blake leered. “Do all of the inmates enjoy your parlor tricks, or did you save them just for me?”

“You alpha gits are all the same. No respect for your elders, for the process. No ability to care about the big picture.” Crowley shook his head. He set down the flask and unceremoniously stabbed the small knife into Blake’s thigh, then listened with a smile to the screamed epithets and gasps.

Blake spewed blood across the floor and he got momentarily distracted by the artistic attributes of it. He swallowed and smirked, “I never said I was an alpha.”

“So, let’s discuss parlor tricks, then. Let’s talk about that beautiful, fiery stunt you pulled that cost me my latest prize. He would have been interesting stuff, but you’re positively fascinating.” Crowley got right in his face and the demon stench reeked directly under Blake’s nose, “I don’t accept disappointment. Which is why I am going to make you tell me what you are. I am a business man, and business men demand satisfaction, and there are means by which we will attain certain... goals.”

He jabbed the knife into Blake’s other leg and twisted, tearing another scream from his lungs.

“Tell me what you are. Tell me why you came here,” he heard Crowley ask. He felt the slice of metal as Crowley dragged the point into his leg, up forcefully along his inner thigh and toward his crotch. Blake flinched and took a deep breath, carefully avoiding more than a tiny flare when the breath left and entered his nose.

“I told you... I thought I was checking myself into rehab,” Blake breathed.

The pain ripped into his inner thigh and bloody dregs laced out across the floor. Blake’s head fell backwards from exhaustion.

“Then I hope you like it. Here’s a proposition.” Crowley balanced the knife on the palm of his hand and admired his handiwork, Blake curtained in his own blood. “I may lose interest in knowing what you are... if you tell me where Purgatory is.”

Blake’s dry chuckle was more of a wet cough, “I thought we were standing in it.”

“Don’t get smart with me, and I won’t start getting experimental with you. For example, do you need that willy, there? Is it useful, I wonder, being so … small.” Crowley observed. Then he listed to one side and leaned toward an especially devilish looking contraption.

Blake swallowed hard and his throat moved slowly with the effort. “Look, Sir King, I’m deeply affected by your methodical outrage, but I’m not going to tell you where George and Martha Washington are.”

“Ah, a patriot. I’m touched. However, we both know that you _will_ talk. There is a story told in the old country - stop me if you’ve heard this one - that in the end, the oldest and wisest member of the clans will reap the earth and every reward in it when he gives up the rest of his kind to be judged. They will have earned such judgement, so the story goes, after what they did to those he loved.”

Blake’s eyes betrayed no emotion at Crowley’s words. He only winked conspiratorially.

His body ached everywhere from his silent efforts, but the edges of a smile began to show in the corners of his eyes. Under the camouflage of his drying blood and the wailing, thrashing monsters echoing his pain through the hallways, his ribcage and thighs had begun to mend. Crowley was going to have to step it up.

“And have I ever told you about the story of Red Hand? Oh that’s right, you weren’t born yet.” Blake nodded arrogantly.

Crowley moved to stand nonchalantly beneath a large ax hanging on the wall and looked back at Blake. “Was it his left hand or his right hand?”

“Once upon a time,” Blake leaned his head forward in the metal restraints as much as he could and spit toward the ground. He continued, “In the wild North, there was an old wise man named Red Hand who could talk to the animals. Nobody knew how old Red Hand was because he lived alone. Several tribes wanted the land where he lived for themselves. They believed that the land was responsible for his great power. If they could live there, they would be able to speak to the animals, too, learn their secrets and gain great power for their people. One day, an enemy felled Red Hand in battle and demanded his secret, which he refused to say. So the man killed him and tore his body apart and left the parts strewn upon the ground. A wolf found him and howled loud enough to gather the rest of the animals. The animals all gave parts of themselves to Red Hand to make him whole again and the bear breathed life into him until he was restored.”

Crowley scoffed from across the room.

“True story,” Blake finished.

“And where is he now, your Red Hand?” Crowley asked, with a twinge more curiosity than was becoming for a demon.

“Oh,” Blake swung slightly on his chains, “he died.”

Crowley stared at him for a moment or two while Blake swung slowly back and forth, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Then Blake used the leverage of his motion to swing himself up into a hand-stand on his cuffed wrists. He wrapped one leg around the upper part of the chain and swung upright again, his weight suspended in a loop around his less wounded leg. He grabbed hold of the water pipe with one hand and with the other, twisted the chain through the clamp hook. Now several feet in the air, but free, he jumped down holding the pile of chain cuffed to his wrists and stood upright to meet the look of shock that carpeted Crowley’s face.

“I’d like a cell now,” Blake towered over him, “and I’d like it to be the honeymoon suite.”

Crowley flinched, fully aware that reaching for the axe behind him would result in Blake’s hands producing untimely volcanic eruptions in parts of his borrowed anatomy. Instead, he blinked professionally. “Now that I am sufficiently bored and hungry, we will reconvene tomorrow. Next time, you will be cuffed to the floor.”

Blake nodded.

At the disdainful snap of Crowley’s fingers, four demons came in with a high pressure hose aimed at Blake’s face. His jaw slammed shut and a fresh copper taste filled his mouth. He didn’t fight it.

The steam cloud drifted up more and more slowly as his power waned. The tree was falling silent sooner than he’d hoped, sleeping through the monsoon as the demons washed the dried blood from his body and exposed the shredded skin. His shirt fell in tatters from his back and the holes in his jeans sagged with the weight of the water. They grabbed him and pulled the chain at his wrists through two long metal bars, then shoved the bars under his arms, hefting him off his feet. It took all of Blake’s effort to keep breathing and not make a sound.

As they rounded a corner and passed the cells, Blake looked up listlessly into each one. Sometimes, his eyes were met with wide stares and exclamations of fear. Others were clinging to the slimy walls with their back, arms and fingers splayed out like flat spiders, seeking to be as far away from him as they could get. As soon as he passed by, many of them shrieked and groaned in agony. Others reached for him from the tiny barred windows and called out to him without name.

They slammed the cell door after chucking him inside, arms still bound by the chains to the two sets of metal bars. In the dark, he could see well enough, but his eyes would not stay open. He felt the edge of a drain with the side of his face, possibly what was meant to be the sewer, and something spongy and wet with his left foot.

He let his eyes close completely around a few blissful moments of silence. Then the voices crept in through the walls. Some of them were nearing hysteria.

_“Are you here to kill us?”_

_“Don’t be ridiculous. If he wanted to do that, we’d already be dead.”_

_“Says you! I say he’s wasted and half dead himself!”_

_“Did you get a good look at him? He’ll be killing us all just as soon as he can gather his wits.”_

_“Someone needs to get us out of here.”_

_“That’s probably the grand plan. We don’t talk, so Armani sends us to the biggest dog he’s found yet. It’s a master plan, I tell you.”_

_“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”_

Water dripped from the ends of his clothes and a mouse shuffled by in the corner. He tried to pull his arms loose from the metal bars but they had fallen in a twisted jumble behind him, pulling his shoulders back and locking his elbows. He had to hunch forward, shifting across the concrete floor on his kneecaps. The metal poles were solid and heavy as hell, and it took all his strength to push them along as he searched for the wall. One clanged sharply against the lead door. He kept pushing backward until his arms hit the crossbar and stopped his progress. He sighed and let his head fall back against the door.

On and on, the voices argued between themselves, anger and fear weaving around his senses like moths attracted to a bug zapper. _A totally useless bug zapper._ Finally, he lifted his head. “All of you shut the hell up,” he groaned, “I still have ears, you know.”

“Hello?” said a voice in the far corner. It was a feminine voice and the proximity startled him.

“I’m sorry. I thought I was alone,” he said toward the dark corner.

“Then who were you talking to?” she asked. He still couldn’t make out exactly where she was or what she was doing here - she obviously wasn’t one of them if she couldn’t hear them talking. For that matter, why the hell wasn’t he alone? _Stupid demons, never follow directions._

He tried to shrug in delayed response to her question and then realized that she probably couldn’t see him either, except for the shadow of his ass in the doorway. “I, uh, it’s not important. Listen, are you tied down?”

“No,” she whispered. “Are you?”

“Can you give me a hand?”

Her voice lowered. “How do I know you won’t hurt me?”

He let his head clang against the door again and tried to shift to a more comfortable position. “You don’t, I guess. Never mind. I just need to get some rest, so you can stop talking to me now.”

“I’m... not talking very much.”

“Good. No talking.”

“Okay.”

Several minutes went by and Blake had to shift again to alleviate the burning in his shoulder. At this rate, he wouldn’t be able to heal by the time they came for him again. He tried to refocus his efforts on the metal cuffs, but it would take everything he had to get through them and he’d still be in this room. He needed to recharge.

“You’re hurt,” said the feminine voice from the corner that wasn’t supposed to talk to him.

“Yeah, but I’m not dead,” he replied.

“You’re hurt bad.”

Blake huffed. “What about it?”

“I can smell it. It smells... different.”

“Congratulations, Nancy Drew. You know, you sure don’t listen worth a damn. Anyone ever tell you that?”

Scuffling sounds approached him quickly and he tensed as soon as he felt a hand on his knee. “I know you,” she said distantly. “Where do I know you from?”

Blake opened his eyes and waited for them to focus on the hazy face before him in the splintered light from the doorjamb. A thin face with angular cheekbones and deep, dark eyes stared in the general direction of his face. Her shoulder length hair was matted and her skin was pale. She looked haunted. It had been at least ten years since he’d seen her. “Kate? Is that you?”

She didn’t smile, but her face relaxed and she reached out for his shoulders, trying to find where he was bound. “Yes, it’s me.”

“Thank God. It sure is good to see a friendly face.” Blake tried to shift around to allow in more light and to show her his ensnared hands. “Where is Luther? Is he here?”

Her hands paused midway down his arms and he could hear a breath catching in her throat. After a second or two, she continued. “No, he’s not here. He’s not anywhere. They killed him.”

Sadness filled Blake’s heart and his whole body deflated inside watery edges. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. It was mine.” She sounded curt now as she tried to stay on task, to work his arms free.

He could hear her choking back the desire to chase his heartbeat. She must be near starving in this place to be losing her abilities and control. “I’m sure it wasn’t like that,” he said gently.

“Luther was right,” she whispered as she searched behind him. Her fingers were freezing. “Revenge is pretty worthless if you end up dead. I tried to give him revenge and it killed him. They took his gun, and they killed him.”

“They killed him with the gun? Kate, who was it?”

“Took me years to find out, but people talk. They were friends of that bastard Elkins, called themselves Winchester. Killing them was the only thing I could think about... until I heard they were all dead.”

“And the gun?”

“No idea. If I ever see it again, it will be too soon.” She made a low sound in her throat, “Got it. Move.” Blake leaned forward as far as he could and she grabbed the end of the pole that was twisted and crossed and stood to lift it.

The pole broke free from the tangle and she set it down in the corner with a thud. It was enough for him to move again, even though he was still shackled. Every muscle was tense and stiff. His back popped loudly into place and he groaned and rolled his shoulder. He tried to get a better look at her condition. “How long have you been here?”

“Haven’t had a chance to check my cell phone lately,” she responded glibly. “I’d say close to six months. I told them they had no hold over me, to go ahead and kill me because everyone I cared about was dead.” Then she smiled. “I didn’t count on you being alive.”

Blake reached up to cup her face in his hands. “Well, here I am. And we’ve gotta take care of each other.” He pulled a shackle down to the raw end of his wrist and wiped at the inside of his arm. “Here. You need to have something.”

Kate laid her hand gently on his arm and pushed it down again. “Did you hit your head when they threw you in here? You’re in no shape for that. If anything, I should be helping you.”

Blake stared at her and then he clenched his eyes shut tightly. Screams renewed down the hallways and reached their ears. Some of the prisoners around them started pounding on the doors of their cells, demanding to be let out. Blake could sense their excitement at new meat walking down the aisles. “What I wouldn’t give for a Royale with cheese right now,” he joked.

They rested and waited.

She noted once or twice that things seemed more lively out there than normal, but neither of them could see past the walls of the cell across the hall.

It was tiring in a different way, draining energy from those around him, but he didn’t have much of a choice. If they were good ones, they would survive this. If he was lucky, none of them would remember a thing, especially Kate.

She said that he should be the one to give Crowley a run for his money. He said it wasn’t about beating some weaselly demon, even if he was the King of Hell. He’d come to find his friends. He wanted to take their fathers home.

After a few more hours, he fell asleep in her lap as she stroked his face, humming under her breath. When he woke, it was just as dark as before and she was laid out beside him, breath shallow and body still.

He stood and ran his hands over himself. He was considerably better, his skin mostly smooth and bruised, but he was still sore when he breathed and he was beginning to feel pangs for real food. He walked over to the door shakily and held his hand out toward the thick steel deadbolt on the door. It was so much worse than he’d thought. They would all die here. They had to get out, somehow.

Simultaneously, all the locked bolts around him screeched and slid from their resting places and the doors were sucked open with a huge clang. Blake was stunned, his hand still reached out meditatively toward the handle where it had been only seconds before. “Okay,” he said slowly.

He took a few steps forward and peered cautiously out. Some were doing nearly the same. Others took off running and shouting, bouncing off of each other down the hallway. Those left behind started crying for them to come back, come back and help them, they were chained to the walls or unable to walk.

At the end of the south hallway, one figure stood perfectly still, back stiff as he watched them panic and flee past him, his trench coat yanked up and bloodied in the onslaught of terrified bodies searching for an exit. Blake watched the head tilt several times awkwardly, like he’d heard a familiar voice or felt someone’s eyes on him.

Suddenly, the figure pivoted in place and a pair of piercing blue eyes scanned the hallway for the source of the feeling, but whatever had been watching him was already gone.


	4. Book 2: Of Wolf And Man

**_October, 1834_ **

His drover’s coat caught the wind and billowed out as he raised his arm and tipped his hat to a woman approaching him on the pavement. She didn't alter her expression or say a word, only bent her head further forward and watched him warily as they neared each other. He didn’t expect much different, being an uncivilized Westerner in Jersey. His coat brushed her skirt and she scooted away.

He passed a lawyer's storefront, then a household goods, finally reaching a nondescript office building a few stories high. It wouldn't pass for a manufacturing plant by any estimation of the word, but what he was looking for wouldn't be found on a production floor.

The door scraped into the arced groove in the wood floor as it opened, and he loosed his blue tie. It was miles better than the rundown ranch house in the scrub brush of Texas cattle country where they'd held their last meeting months before.

Up to the second floor and to the left at the top of the hand-rail, he knocked on the glass paned interior door. He waited for a few moments and then rapped again. The sound of feet shuffling across the room was followed by the door opening a crack. A small, thin man in a printers cap stared at him from behind round spectacles.

“Colt here?” he asked.

The old man looked behind him and hesitated, then looked at the floor and nodded as he opened the door the rest of the way.

As he passed through the doorway, he took in the frailty of the man and quickly realized that he was holding a loaded shotgun behind his back. He adjusted his step to a softer one and watched the man close the door behind him.

He glanced up into the mouth of yet another rifle. The young man that he had come to see was pointing it right at his heart. Just shy of boyhood, he already had years of hardship weighing in his eyes.

He slowed to a stop in the middle of the room and lifted his hands slightly, more as a gesture of peace than of surrender. When seconds ticked by and nothing happened, he tried a word or two. “It’s good to see you, too, Sam.”

Sam responded with a swift movement of the barrel, pointing down and to the right and then raising it again.

Taking a wild guess, he advanced toward the chair in the general direction of Colt’s motion, but was stopped with a warning.

“No, Luther. First the pistols.”

He circled his hands slowly to show cooperation and then pulled the long tails of his coat back behind him. It was tiring, moving at this pace. He used two fingers and a thumb to empty the front holster. With his left hand he removed his sidearm in a similar fashion, then he reached behind him and pulled the last one cautiously from his belt. He walked forward to set them all on the desk. For good measure, he took two steps to Colt’s right and stood waiting.

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/thepostern/pic/00004dap/)   


  


Colt gave the small pile a cursory glance and battled a small twitch that formed at the corner of his mouth. He slung the rifle into the crook of his arm and and waved at his assistant to lower his weapon and leave. “So, give me a report. Did they work?”

Luther only offered a sideways nod. “I tested them all.”

Heartbeats drifted by as Colt stood and rounded the desk. Reaching toward a metal case of tools, he removed a magnifying lens and slung the strap over his head, abandoning his former wariness for methodical disassembly and examination. “Field tested?”

Struggling for a diplomatic answer that would hide his twinge of annoyance, Luther couldn’t find one. “As if there were any other kind of testing?”

“Well, you’re still alive, that must count for something.”

Luther grimaced and tried not to laugh.

“Did the silver hold up like we expected?”

“No.”

Colt looked at him with one eye exploded in the lens of a magnifier. “Well? Tell me what happened.”

He reached for the model Colt was examining. “This one is a piece of junk. It won’t take the silver where I aim it. Too light. Same with lead. It’s too heavy. Firing fails most of the time. Hard to aim and even harder to shoot.”

Colt’s waxy jaw slung its way from side to side, “Probably the powder you’re using. You get overeager?”

“I used what you told me to. And this one,” he picked up a version with a smaller sight, “it will group shots at 25 yards... if you have all afternoon.”

His diatribe was met with a long, deliberate stare. Then Colt’s hand passed over the desk toward a whiskey bottle and he poured its contents generously into two glasses.

“But this one?” Luther lifted the empty stock of the model with the longest barrel, “It’s balanced. There’s enough space between cylinders not to go off half cocked. And,” he snatched the empty cylinder from the desk, snapped the gun into firing mode in less than two seconds and handed it to Colt, “I notched the hammer. It lines up with the front sight. The trigger needs work. But it’s good. It’s fast.”

Both tumblers of whiskey went down Colt’s throat and he coughed. “It’s only five shots.”

“Five is better than one. Besides, five is all I can load in the others. Too risky. We need better loads, or we need to go with five.”

Their tenuous staring contest finally broke Colt down and he shoved the gun back at Luther. Then he leaned back toward the window stubbornly. “Tell me where she is.”

“Sam, if we’re gonna work together on this and find the hell-spawn that attacked your family, you gotta stay focused. It’s revenge you want and I can help you get it. But we need this gun. You decide.”

Colt’s hard fist slammed down on the desk and made all of the metal parts jump, including a loaded cylinder that began to roll away. Luther caught it before it could hit the floor and discharge. “I’ve lost everything! My sisters are dead. Kate’s dead to me because of you, Luther. You tell me ...” Colt lost his momentum and he wiped a hand over his face. “Tell me she’s alright.”

Luther blinked. “She has been born into my family. She is one of us because it was the only way that I could keep her safe. We can’t be possessed. You know that.” Placing his fists on either side of the gun, Luther leaned closer. “She wants you to come back, Sam, you and your brothers. Family should be together. And hunting demons is the best way to design a gun that kills a demon.”

Colt shook his head violently. “No. I can’t. I’m never going back there.” He stood and rested the tips of his fingers on the desk contemplatively. “If we make this work, you have to promise me something.”

Luther lifted his head warily, then glanced down and nodded. “Okay.”

“When you know it works, you ... use it. You use it and put her out of her misery.”

A nearly loaded gun in his hands, Luther squinted. “Kate’s a member of my family now, Sam, not some rabid dog. She’s not in any misery.”

“Says you.”

“I don’t care what you think of me. We have a job to do. There are bigger fish out there, and you and me is how it’s going to be.”

Luther pulled a leather-bound book from the pocket of his duster and laid it out on the desk. The pages were yellowed with age. The worn cover had been branded with a symbol of a six-pointed star inside a circle and embossed with silver letters from another language. Luther traced the indentations with a finger, then opened it to a marked passage and stabbed at it emphatically. “I wouldn’t give you the key to my own destruction if I didn’t need your help. Now, are you with me, or not?”

Young Colt’s face wavered as his eyes gazed over the drawings and strings of unfamiliar text. A litany of instruction for sealing every profane and unchristian entity imaginable into a mouth of Hell, forever. “Where did you find this?”

“It belongs to a friend. He’ll be back someday. But for now,” Luther replied, “if you want revenge? You come back with me. I’ll give it to you.”

Colt looked up hopefully.

“But first,” Luther flipped the pages of the book to the beginning, “we stay alive.”

**_November, 2011_ **

_Spectacular embers of color drifted behind his eyelids, closed in the soft flutter of sleep. When he opened them, he was no longer certain where he was, if it was real or only in his mind, or if it made a difference in the end._

_Stars floated above him. Beyond those the biggest star of all held its station, cascading down the brilliant energy that would engulf everything in flames, if only it could remember how, if it weren’t for the great distance, if it weren’t for being sent so far away._

_He sat up. He was in the woods. He was always in the woods, surrounded by trees, shrouding him from the sky, from the stars and the sun, from everywhere he wanted to be. His hands chafed over his jeans, over legs too fleshy and thick to be right, to feel like his own. Weighing him down. He missed the flying dreams._

_One hand reached his waist absently as he stared above himself, looking beyond the sky among the leaves. Something beside him shifted away as his hand scuffed it and he grabbed for it instinctively. Something thin. Hollow. His hand covered it and he stole back his eyes to look down. The box. The latch was set. It weighed almost nothing, but then again, it never had before. He picked it up. He took it with him._

_The trees followed him, clinging to his shirt, his arms, his feet as he trudged upward holding the box. They were unwilling to let him go, didn’t want him to leave. He loved the shade. He loved the trees. He ran his hands over them as he passed. But he couldn’t stay. He couldn’t live there, with them, for always. He leaned into a fallen place, sat down against earth and life that had suffered in the weight of water, a grave water, a creek bed, and undid the latch on the box._

_The ash rinsed over his hands, sticking to him in a way that felt unnatural, trapped against the moisture of his skin, buried in the depths, buried in the close woods canopied with leaves. Nothing else was in it now, only the ash, only what remained, trapped in the forest, eager for breath and for air. He couldn’t just leave it there. He took a handful to release it and the grains whispered between his fingers. Not here. Musty clumps fell from his hand back into the tamarack. Splinters of the past pricked him. The blood clung to him. He closed the box._

_Up the hill he walked, no trails to guide him, only the waving grasses and the brush of the wind guiding him out, up, into the next gully and across the divide again. He rested a few times and gazed silently at the landscape as it began to open to him._

_Voices appeared and disappeared like ribbons of lights, like aurora. They fanned across his brow like wind and song, not deciding for him what they were. Things remembered. Things forgotten. They sought him out from the horizon and made sounds in his chest, a chest with no heartbeat, no movement save the cadence of his step, and they throbbed and fell and disappeared into the box as he watched._

_He crested the hill. The stars were there to meet him, all of them were there. He stood before the sun as discordant beams of light and sound pulled at him to return, come back, stay._

_He unlatched the box and opened it. He gathered it in his hand and held it, knowing there was no way back, not in this life, nothing saved for the next, only dead memories, only things forgotten and left behind. The ash crackled in his grasp and he held it out to the sun. The sun would remember. The stars would sustain him, as they did everything, with everyone. He let go._

Blake woke up where he had laid down, under an eroding overhang of earth covered by the roots of trees, exhausted from carrying Kate out into the safety of the hillside with him. He brushed the cover of leaves away from her body and felt her pulse, faint but regular.

The stolen clothes he had strained into for warmth had torn open his tenderized flesh. Progress was slower without his gear. To make it even worse, the farther away they got from the fleeing captives, the weaker he felt. He passed through feverish dozes to find new, dried patches of blood on his shirt.

Kate helped where she could. She had tried to bind his shoulder, back and legs with the softest of the shredded clothes and brought water for him, but she was too weak for much else. He watched her sleep for hours while every muscle in his body fidgeted in pain and his swollen skin closed over deep scabs that itched.

*

  


Her eyes opened to the distant sky. Hazy, blue light poured over the heart branches of the trees and left them thin and cool and empty. She shivered. A warm hand landed on her face, wiping dampness from her eyes, caressing her cheek and smoothing errant stands of hair away.

“Blake?”

“Yeah.”

“I was dreaming.” She squinted into the light and focused on his face, soft and close to hers as he watched her. “I remember your eyes being brown.”

“That was before.” He smiled comfortingly, then he shifted his hand away gingerly and groaned.

She pushed herself up to check his bandages and rubbed her eyes blearily. The smell of his blood on her hands brought a flush to her face. She grimaced and swallowed hard. Her hands cradled the worst of the wounds helplessly. “What can I do?”

He reached up for her face again. She could feel the warmth along his arm, feel the rush of life underneath. She gathered his hand into both of hers and tried to push him away. “No, Blake, I can’t. _You_ can’t.”

He shook his head to silence her. “That was our promise all those years ago, right? All of us? That no matter what happens, we keep each other safe. Right?”

She kissed the palm of his hand and nodded.

Taking a deep breath, he blinked quickly. “Go ahead.”

She locked his arm in place and bent her head down. Her fangs brushed against him like whispers, and carefully she bit down into the tender skin and started to drink.

His torso lifted off the ground at the sharp pinch and an unexpected surge of panic filled his lungs. Survival instinct hammered deep palpitations through his heart and a shout broke out of his throat that he barely muffled, forcing it instead into strained coughs. He fought to hold still.

Thin, dust-riddled fabric began to lace his vision. He watched it swirl through his veins and travel upward until it rose in her eyes, smoky and soft, landing where she held his gaze gratefully. When her eyelids shut and she turned her face away, he let his eyes close, too. His heartbeat pounded with a foreign, elevated rhythm that pulled him toward a choking darkness and he fell, abandoned and lost, too far away from any sound that measured time.

He came around slowly to her voice calling his name. The pinch returned and he searched groggily for the source. The tight press of her hands was still cold on the crook of his arm as she folded it protectively. She also hurried to wipe her mouth against her shoulder before he could focus completely, but the motion only smeared his blood across her cheek.

“Okay, your turn,” she said. Her voice was strong and bold now, like her old self.

His eyelids were heavy as he looked up at her, flush with life, and he offered her a sideways smile. “No way, can’t risk it. It would kill you, Kate, and I’d still need more, lots more. At best, it holds me over. I just need time.”

“Well, you’ve got precious little of that,” she argued. “Blake, please. I can’t stand seeing you like this. Why don’t you use your angel hookup to heal? That’s like Highway to Heaven for you, right?”

He gasped, then sat up quickly and crawled blindly deeper under the earthen overhang. He used his other hand to cover his deepest wound: the dark circle that had grown tighter from her drain on his strength. “Sure, absolutely. We can have both sides of a civil war slavering for a piece of me and tearing you to shreds. I’m a fugitive, sweetheart. Just thinking about them is the same as painting huge bulls-eyes on our chests.”

Kate moved to sit beside him and stared into his pale face quietly. Then she traded places with him to block the cold wind and piled the limbs and leaves up as high as she could around them both. She tucked her knees under her chin and watched him sink unwillingly into sleep. “Okay,” she whispered, “okay.”

*

  


When the puffy bruises around his eyes finally drained away, he hunted, returning with small animals or a fish from the stream. Kate would take the life, he would take the meat. Mostly, they rested.

They hid in the woods for two days before deciding that nothing was going to come after them. On the night of the third day, cold settled on the ridge and he built a fire. As they sat around it, soaking in the warmth, a pair of eyes shone from the edge of the darkness, wavering. Blake watched from where he sat, waiting for the form to breach the light and join them. Kate rubbed her temples and groaned.

“Hey,” Blake touched her arm. “You alright?”

“I...” she began. She squinted and blinked into the fire, “I need to go. I need to go back.” She stood unsteadily and made it a few steps away from Blake’s reach before she fell hard, face cushioned by the carpet of fallen leaves.

Blake turned his attention to the pair of gleaming eyes as they made their way forward. “Can’t have them knowing all of our little secrets,” said the form in the shape of a man, the father of all vampires.

“Ahset,” Blake greeted him.

“Hearing you address me with civility and the title to which I was born pleases me, brother.”

“Now that you mention it, ‘Eight Ball’ never had the same ring to it.” Blake shifted inconspicuously into a more comfortable position, and reached underneath his seat on the ground for the hacking knife he had stolen during their escape. “Didn’t expect you would have hung around here.”

“I didn’t,” replied the dark man. He rubbed his hands together and crouched down before the fire, satisfaction swimming over features that enjoyed feigning humanity. After a moment, he said, “I returned to my home having expected that those clowns burned it. Instead, they left it full of rotting meat.” He peered into the fire thoughtfully. “Do you know how many pigs it takes to clean up that much meat?”

Choking back the visual that tried to eel its way into his brain, Blake shook his head, “Nope, no idea.”

A smile came and went in a flash, “I want my daughter.”

“Oh,” Blake responded, “That’s very thoughtful of you, considering you had so much concern for her safety a few nights ago.”

The expression on the Ahset’s face remained unchanged. “She was in your care. Why would I question your ability?”

Blake feigned deep thought. “Let’s see, well, mostly because you never liked me, I’d still like to kill you, and the only reason you want her now is because she’s the last survivor of your kind to have seen the gun.”

A rumble that resembled a laugh drifted over the edge of the flames and into the dark. The man’s eyes glinted with blue light as his teeth appeared. “Yes, yes. You’ve killed me many times.”

“I enjoy it every time,” Blake responded. “Something in me says that you’d get bored without your regularly scheduled trips down under.”

A sarcastic smile spread slowly across his face. “Some things never change.”

“Nope, they sure don’t.” Without risking a full recon of the trees around them, Blake knew that the three of them were not alone.

The smile faded. “But some things do.”

Quickly, Blake measured and counted: the breaths in the forest, how many were a threat and how many were frightened animals, how badly the Ahset wanted him. He wondered if Eight Ball had truly calculated the risk of taking so many days to gather a company against him when he knew Blake would have spent that time recovering.

“Still wanna rule the world?” Blake scoffed at him.

The Ahset stood, regarding him calmly from across the fire. His hands draped unmoving at his sides in an animalistic stance. “Someone should. You are never here, Ahshem.”

Blake shrugged noncommittally. He knew he didn’t have much time. He lunged upward and kicked the fire, slinging the blade up to ride along the side of his strong arm.

 _Heartbeat_.

The dark man raised his arms to shroud his face from the rising flames. Shouts arose from the vertical lines of bright and dark around them, assistance from all sides encroaching from the bars of the forest.

 _Heartbeat_.

Compelled by the alpha’s power, Kate rose from the ground and raced past Blake. His left hand caught at the seam of her clothing as she flew into their arms. He spun to see the Ahset baring his teeth.

 _Heartbeat_.

Blake took a deep breath and raised the knife higher, “Do it! Make all of your wishes come true!”

A flinch creased the Ahset’s smile before he raised his chin beguilingly and pursed his lips, sending a kiss across the burning air. Then he walked away into the night, leaving Blake alone.

*

  
Blake’s muscles ached where the tamarack had been carved away from him, and he could feel the absence of it underneath his skin, a void of depleted power that demanded a recharge. He faced west, to the distant night stars that were shining down on the Campbell place. Dark brown eyes, gentle hands and warmth, the comfort of his ride and his rifle, what was left of his life before, were all in that direction. At least it used to be. Nothing there now but more ashes. His chest cramped painfully. Safety and power lay north.

He flexed his arm and traced the moving circle on his arm with his forefinger. It had expanded a little, and the lines of the compass pointed the way he already knew he had to go. He wiped at his eyes and turned away from the stars, blew out a forceful puff of air, and got moving.

He went back and ransacked the abandoned prison for anything that might be of use. Deep inside the twisted corridors he found a room with a bloody torture rack, a broken devils trap and a charred pile of bones.

He knelt slowly down over the ashes and pressed one finger lightly into the powder, barely enough to leave a print. Sulphur and bile rose immediately in his throat, and his vision turned red with the bloody screams of spirits and the souls of the damned. He swore and wiped his finger clean on the cement floor until the feeling passed, and he spit the taste away. “Crowley,” he half-laughed, “you stubborn bastard. Always gotta get in the last word.” The ashes said nothing, and Blake moved on.

Crowley’s private office proved to be a gold mine, and his eyes lit up like a little kid’s on Christmas morning while he looted the place. There was little in the way of first aid, but he cleaned up as best as he could manage. When he was done, he stepped out into the sunrise with a backpack slung carefully over his shoulder and a rolling hard plastic suitcase trailing behind him.

He hitched a ride east with Valerie Montgomery, an eighty year old grandmother of four. She dropped him off at a bus station, but not before leaving him with a stern admonition to be careful out there. He waved at her politely as she drove away, then bought a ticket east.

Blake stumbled up to the safe house at half past three in the morning, praying that the combination he remembered from childhood would still work. It did. He dropped his luggage and peeled stiffly out of his ragged clothes, feeling every pull against the edges of his wounds. He eyed the shower longingly, but contact with water just wasn’t something he was willing to risk yet. He eased himself slowly down onto the low cot and was asleep almost before he closed his eyes.

*

  
Someone was poking at him, right in the barely-closed hole where Samuel had put a bullet through his shoulder. He snapped awake, choking back a strangled cry of pain. His eyes watered and he turned his head to confront his torturer, only to find a tall girl hovering over him. Her face glowed as sunlight fingered through her long, blond hair. She had her mother’s olive skin and curious, bright green eyes.

“You look like crap,” she said, taking her hand away. “Seriously.”

“Dammit,” Blake gasped, eyes watering with pain. “Is that any way to treat company?”

She shrugged. “Clearly you can handle it. Here,” she added, and she handed him a fresh set of towels. “Get cleaned up. You planning on staying a while?” When he nodded and propped himself up on his elbows, she moved to leave. “There’s clothes in the dresser. Come upstairs whenever you’re ready.”

He sat up carefully. “Thanks.”

The girl waved a hand through the air. “Mom said it was about time you showed up.”

Blake suffered through an excruciating shower. The cold water chilled his core and left him feeling empty and aching, but the hot water stung every line that had been gouged into his back, turning the place where the tree had once lived into a source of constant pain. In the end, he spot-cleaned with a wash cloth as best as he could before giving up on it.

He settled on a pair of jeans that fit loosely and a T-shirt about two sizes too big before grabbing the backpack of goods he had liberated from Crowley’s. He exited the small apartment and climbed up the walk to the main house. He followed the drive around to the back, where a large machine shop stood in the midst of grass that desperately needed mowing. He entered the shop and stepped around several completed projects, picking his way to the center of mechanical chaos.

The mistress of the house was standing over a half-built motorcycle in the middle of the garage. She had a welder’s mask propped up on top of her head and she was glaring at the bike like it had personally insulted her. Blake smiled as he approached, the sight of her a welcome relief in a world full of strangers. “Carly. I gotta say, that kid of yours has a mean streak.”

Carly looked up and snorted a laugh. She shook her head, tight black curls bouncing all around the edges of her mask. “Her name is Nora. Blake, I swear. I thought you were dead.”

“Dead? I’m offended. I’d have definitely let you know if I was dead.”

She leaned across the bike and slapped him upside the back of the head. “That’s for ordering crap you never pay for,” she said sternly. “The reason it’s custom is ‘cos you’d be the only one it works for, got it?”

Blake raised both hands in surrender. “I’m here now. Do you still have the stuff or not?”

Carly rolled her eyes. “Yeah, whatever.” She moved across the room and reached beneath the counter, doing something with a hidden button system that Blake was pretty sure she ripped off from a Mission: Impossible movie. The hissing sound of hydraulics announced that Carly’s secret basement was open for business.

Blake followed Carly down the stairs, his eyes adjusting quickly to the dim light.

Carly was rattling off his list of reserved stock in a bored tone, ticking them off one-by-one on her fingers. “Got your two rifles, that new ID you asked for - nearly impossible to fake by the way, you’re welcome - and the piece-de-whatever-that-word-is, these.”

Carly brandished a small plastic container smugly in one hand, deftly dodging Blake’s attempt to snatch them from her. “Eh-uh, get off. Coin first, then toy time.”

Blake dug through his backpack and pulled out a long-necked amber bottle with dust still on the label. “How’s this for custom?”

She sniffed suspiciously, then took it, carefully inspecting the seal. Then she dropped her hand, letting the bottle swing back and forth at her side. She started laughing. “Where the hell did you run across 30 year old Craig? Or maybe I should ask who you stole it from?”

Blake opened the backpack to reveal several more bottles nestled carefully into old newspaper. “They were free salvage, I swear. You should be able to sell them for --”

Carly put her hand, still holding the bottle, on her hip. “Deal,” she cut him off, extending the small plastic case again. “Hand over the booze.”

Blake set the backpack carefully on the floor at her feet and took the case. “How do they work?”

Carly settled the lone bottle back with the others. “They’re contacts, genius. How do you think they work? You put them in your eyes.”

Blake shook his head. So few people could really make him feel stupid. “You’re an angel, really,” he said sarcastically.

She flashed him a rare smile. “Tsk. I don’t tell all of your secrets, do I?” Then she reached up and took his jaw in one hand. “Show me,” she ordered.

He blinked and locked his eyes with hers, letting the heat flush into his cheeks and flit across his irises. She frowned. “That how much juice you normally have?”

Blake shook his head. “I... uh. I’ve been,” he cast around for the right word, “indisposed?”

“Never mind.” She released him and tapped the plastic case. “No saline, and I mean it. Salt will rust them, and you don’t want that. They’ll dampen the lights and they can absorb some of the heat. But if you feel like you’re gonna Hulk out, don’t bet your life on them. You hear me?”

Blake cleared his throat. “Thanks, C. I really needed these.” She shrugged, putting a hand on the edge of her visor, a signal that their transactions had ended. “Hey, wait, one more thing.” Carly paused. “That Ducati upstairs - how fast does it go?”

Her eyes went wide, incredulous. “Nah, you’re kidding,” she said with finality. When he didn’t answer, she ripped the welding mask off and tossed it into a supply box with a crash. “Blake! You’re kidding me, right? Months - months you don’t show up here, you pay me in stolen booze, and now you want my Streetfighter?”

Blake suppressed a sigh. “How fast, Carly.”

She pinned him with a stare that could have stopped a stampeding herd of buffalo. “It has 155 horses, 9500 RPMs and it’s fuel-injected,” she rattled off. “Of course it’s fast.”

Blake grinned at her and waggled his eyebrows, watching in satisfaction as her eyes narrowed to slits. “Can I have it?”

“Hell, no.”

Blake reached into the waistband of his jeans and produced a dagger that sparkled even in the dim light. “Can I have it now?”

Her jaw dropped. “Is … is that iridium?” He flipped the blade around and offered her the handle, but when she reached for it he pulled it back again.

“This is worth way more than just the bike. There’s a hunter named Gwen Campbell. Find her for me. Also, I need a satellite phone -- untraceable of course -- something to help me finish healing up while I’m here, and --”

She laughed, and her lips twisted into a dark smile. “You got a favorite flavor, _Ahshem_?”

He tilted his head, feigning deep thought. “Sure, sure … hm. Siren is good for a speedy recovery. Well, anything with a toxin, for that matter. Djinn, vamp … take your pick. No lamprey though, please. They taste like salt water.”

Carly rolled her eyes. “Roger that: One siren, deep fried extra crispy. Why do I feel like you aren’t done?”

“And I need a laptop, a good one.” He took a deep breath and waited for her to focus on him before continuing, “It’s time I made another copy of the book.”

The subconscious energy buzzing around her fell still. She held his gaze evenly. “This Gwen of yours. You think she’s the one?”

Blake nodded, and his throat tightened. “Yeah, I do. But she doesn’t know yet, so just find her. All I need is an address.”

“Fine. Anything else?”

Blake thought about it. “The Winchesters. Why they had Colt’s gun, and where it is now.” He held out the knife again, and Carly’s eyes fell to the shifting black design on his arm. He ducked his head to catch her gaze. “Help me?”

She took a slow, deliberate breath and cleared her throat, blinking rapidly before tearing her eyes from the circle to look back up at him. “So it’s time, then,” she said flatly. “You’re here for the duration.”

“I’m here for as long as you’ll have me,” he said firmly.

Carly snatched the knife without hesitating and forcefully blew a curl out of her face. “I’ll do everything I can on my end,” she said. “As for the Winchesters - I think Nora can give you some insight there.” She reached into the front of her blouse and pulled out a thin silver chain with a key hanging on it, unclasped it, and handed it to Blake. “Book’s in the safe. Better get started.” She reached out and brushed his cheek with her fingertips, feather-light. Then she waved her hand through the air. “Now get out of my shop, flyboy.”

Blake pecked her on the cheek, ducked her left hook, and went back upstairs.

**_February, 2012_ **

Dean had just opened the Arc Mobile tab for the third time and was staring at all the empty country maps when Sam’s phone went off, buzzing against the tabletop like a swarm of bees. Sam was curled deep into a comforter on the opposite side of the room. He didn’t so much as twitch at the noise. Dean hesitated a moment before reaching to slide the phone closer. He picked it up, and the angry buzz calmed down a notch.The caller ID said _unknown number_. Dean shifted in his seat, trying to measure the wisdom of bothering a guy who was just now sleeping again after more than a year.

Sam stirred, and a sleepy, muffled voice drifted up through the sheets. “Jus’ answer it,” Sam groaned, “and stop thinking so loud.”

Dean smiled and pushed back his chair. “Go back to sleep, Sam.” There was no reply. Dean stepped outside before accepting the call. “Hello?”

The voice on the other end of the line sounded relieved. “Sam? Man, I didn’t think I’d get you. Listen, I need your help. Can we meet somewh-”

Dean frowned. “Who is this?”

The voice paused before asking cautiously, “Is this Sam?”

Dean cleared his throat and ground a knuckle into the sore point between his eyes. “Uh, no. Sorry. Look, man, if you need help, you should really call somewhere else. We’re a little tied up here.”

The guy made a sound that Dean easily identified as mild panic. “Look, I _really_ need to see him. Tell him Blake called, okay? He knows me. It’s important.”

Dean’s stomach clenched. “Trust me pal, he can’t help you with anything.”

The urgency in Blake’s voice died and was replaced with concern. “Is he alright?”

“Never better,” Dean answered, surprised that the guy seemed to care. Curiosity started to get the better of him. “How did you say you know him?”

“It’s a long story,” Blake said carefully, clearly not comfortable sharing with a total stranger. Dean couldn’t fault the guy for being uneasy, especially since he wasn’t planning on sharing and caring himself. There was a shuffling sound, and then a long pause. “This has to be Dean, right?”

“What the -”

“You’re a direct guy, so I’m going to give it to you straight. I know you don’t know me, but I used to hunt with your brother and I need the Colt. Far as I know, Crowley was the last guy to have it. Sam knows me,” he repeated, “And if you know where it is, please. It’s important.”

“Like hell it is. No.” Dean pulled the door shut behind him and stepped farther into the parking lot, using the extra distance as a shield between his brother and his past. “I catch you near Sam, and you won’t have time to ask him _anything_.”

Dean hung up the phone feeling shaken and worn. He rubbed his eyes and tried to think of how much to tell Sam about the call, if anything at all. The phone buzzed in his hand again, insistent. _Unknown number_. “Screw you,” Dean muttered, and he popped off the back panel. The battery went in his pocket, and the rest went in the motel dumpster. Case closed.

When he returned, he didn’t turn the light back on, just felt his way back to his bed and crawled under the covers. Sam was sleeping peacefully not six feet away. For as long as he possibly could, Dean was going to keep it like that.

**_April, 2012_ **

Nora breezed through the safe house door without preamble and let the tray containing Blake’s lunch clatter loudly down onto his writing desk. “Whatcha writing?”

Blake set down his pen and carefully lifted a leather-bound book with crisp white paper and and a freshly burned brand; a six-pointed star surrounded by raised silver lettering. He set it on the top of a stack of several others that bore the same mark. Some were faded and worn, some were stained with blood so old that the covers seemed to be made of rust.

Blake pulled the tray of food closer. “The next chapter of an anthology.” He smiled at the hand-rolled cigarette resting next to his ham and cheese. Carly wasn’t skimping on the room service, and because of her all of his wounds had long since healed.

Nora sat down on his cot and rested her chin in her hands. “What makes it an anthology?”

Blake selected an apple from the tray and answered her around his first bite. “It’s hundreds of years worth of short stories.”

She flipped her long hair out of her face and studied the backs of her nails, coated with fresh blue polish. “My mom says she knew you a long time ago. Is that true?”

“Yeah, understatement.”

“What was she like?” The young girl’s face was carefully disinterested, but Blake knew fishing when he heard it.

“She was beautiful. Even more than now,” he added hurriedly and Nora’s _oh really_ face. “She used to fly with me a lot.”

She wrinkled her nose. “In a plane?”

“Sure, kid. Let’s go with that,” he chuckled.

She smiled. “What about my dad?”

Blake’s laugh faded away, and he shook his head regretfully. “Never got the chance to meet him,” he said.

She nodded, seeming to accept that he was not going to say anything more, and lay down on his cot with her hands crossed under her head. She studied the ceiling for a moment and then asked, “Are you ever going to give me my books back?”

Blake glanced at the small pile of B movie novels littering the corner of his small room and tried not to wince. Those books contained way too much information, and none of it in a good way. “Probably. Why, you miss them?” he teased.

She seemed to consider it. “I miss _Provenance_. And _Bad Day at Black Rock_.”

“Really? Why those?”

“I don’t know. _Provenance_ … I just like Sam in it. He cares about people, and he really knows how to listen. And _Bad Day at Black Rock_ is so funny. I like the part where he catches himself on fire.”

She raised her eyebrows suggestively, turning on the puppy eyes so hard that Blake almost choked on his apple.

“Anyone ever tell you how insatiable you are?” He set the apple down and picked up the smoke with his left hand, holding it out where she would have a clear view. He waved his right hand through the air and snapped his fingers. A small flame sprung to life from the tips of his fingers, and Nora clapped appropriately while he lit the cigarette and took a drag. The ashes nestled inside the paper filled him with a heady burst of power, and his eyes closed of their own accord while he savored the taste.

When he opened them again, Nora was watching him intently. He tried to pick up the thread of their lost conversation. “That’s my favorite part, too.”

She sighed and refocused her efforts, moving back to prying. “You’ve been writing in that all summer. Aren’t you bored?”

 _God, yes_. He gestured to the laptop case leaning up against the wall. “I’m also moving it into the computer so it doesn’t get lost.”

Nora rolled her eyes in a perfect imitation of her mother. “You’re taking _forever_.”

“Well, I’m not the fastest translator or typer... ist in the world,” he protested.

She sat up on her elbows, eyes flashing with interest. “I could do it for you.”

Something fluttered in Blake’s chest, and he looked away, reaching for his sandwich. “I don’t think so, Nora,” he said gruffly. “These books aren’t for kids.”

She glared at him almost hard enough to be convincing. “I’m not a kid, I’m thirteen.”

Blake tipped his chair back far enough to reach the pile of novels on the floor and rummaged through them until he found the right ones. “ _Provenance_ and _Bad Day at Black Rock_ ,” he said, and he handed them across to her. “Thanks for the sandwich.”

She sighed and cradled the books in her arms as she walked to the door.

“Nora,” he called after her, and she looked at him questioningly. “I know you’re not a kid. You know about things that nobody else can know, and that makes you pretty special. But _this_ story,” he splayed his fingers across the ancient leather cover, unconsciously framing the six-pointed star, “it’s about things that _nobody_ should know. You trust me?”

She nodded slowly, then offered him a small smile.

“That’s why you’re my girl.”

**_July, 2012_ **

Blake was down by the lake skipping rocks when Carly seemed to appear out of nowhere. She was smiling a strained smile, and her face was pale. Blake shivered, and nervous anticipation settled deep in his gut.

She took a deep breath. “I can’t find Sam and Dean. I’m sorry.” She held up a hand to stop him from interrupting. “They’re hidden from angels. Even Castiel can’t locate them unless they call, and even if he could, my source is steering clear of him. So am I.”

“Balthazar,” Blake snorted. “I wouldn’t want Old Leather-Britches to blow your cover with Heaven’s modern-day Grant and Lee,” he said darkly. “You take enough of a risk just talking to that degenerate.”

Carly wrinkled her nose and squeezed his shoulder. “That’s a tired old road, Blake. We’re safe here.” He dropped the subject. If there was one thing he knew about her, it was that she was as strong-willed as they came, and there was no use arguing. “He did have one interesting piece of news. Sam and Dean Winchester were recently … reunited.”

Blake frowned. “I know. I saw them together a couple of times.”

“No, no,” she chided. “Not physically. _Completely_. Seems that Sam went quite a long stretch there as a living example of how _not_ to practice astral projection. And get this - Balthazar figures Death to be the guy that sprung him.”

He blinked. “Sprung him from the … from the cage? Wait - are you telling me that in all that time I hunted with him, he never had his _soul_?”

“Bingo,” she said, tapping him in the chest with her forefinger. Then she shuffled her feet, suddenly very interested in studying the ground. “There’s one more thing, and you aren’t gonna like it.”

His speeding train of thought shorted out, and his breath caught in his throat. “Gwen?”

Carly’s smile turned brittle. “Turns out she checked in upstairs a few months ago,” she said, holding up a palm to halt his response. “Checked back out just as fast.” She looked straight at him, driving the revelation home. “We aren’t sure who did it, and I don’t think I have to tell you that whoever brought them back didn’t do it out of the goodness of their loving, celestial heart. She’s probably under surveillance. This could be a trap, Blake.”

The sudden rush between panic and relief was dizzying. Blake took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Does that mean you found her?”

She sighed gently. “You’ll never guess where she’s been this whole time.”

“Where?”

She spread her hands wide in a helpless shrug. “Your neck of the woods. Home. Near as we can tell, she’s with a new group of hunters. Samuel isn’t there.” She grabbed his arms at the elbows, shaking him out of his stunned silence. “She’s alright, Blake.”

“Then it’s almost time to go,” he said quietly. “I know I say this a lot, but - thanks for everything.”

Her hands trembled, but her face was unreadable. “Are you done with the book?”

“Almost. I figure a few more days, tops.” He sighed at her watering features. “Don’t do this, C. I’ve got nearly everything I need. It’s just how it is. Right?”

“I know,” she whispered. “Sam and Dean are Gwen Campbell’s blood. Maybe she can help you find them. Maybe they can help you protect her.”

Blake pulled her into a hug and kissed her cheek.

*

  
They shipped his rifles and a small box of supplies ahead with instructions to hold them at the post office, and he packed the rest of his belongings into his pack and a pair of saddlebags.

He opened the safe and slid the book back inside. Closing the door on it felt like shutting away a thousand screaming voices, locking them into a cold, dark place where their power would be bound inside the leather that covered their words. He slid the laptop in after the book and turned the small silver key in the lock.

The Streetfighter was waiting for him at the top of the drive, loaded up and ready to go. Carly stood with his helmet under the crook of one arm and her other hand draped over Nora’s thin shoulders. She watched him approach with the resolute determination of someone who had planned for an unpleasantness for a very long time.

He handed Carly the key on its delicate chain. She clasped it back around her neck, settling underneath it like it carried the weight of the world. Nora shifted uncomfortably at her mother’s side and her bangs fell across her eyes, hiding her face.

Blake took one of each of their shoulders and shook them both a little. “Ladies, ladies. Come on, I was a horrible house guest. You won’t miss me that bad, will you?” Carly scoffed, and Nora flipped her hair and rolled her eyes. He smiled at them both. “That’s better.”

He took the helmet from Carly and ran appraising eyes over the bike, taking in the twisting golden flames that licked across the sleek black surface. “You know…” he tossed her an amused look over his shoulder. “You really didn’t have to repaint.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips and she shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m a fan of symbolism.”

Blake climbed on and adjusted his pack to settle comfortably on his shoulders. He nodded to them both and Carly returned the look before stepping back to give him room. He pulled on his helmet and had just began to button the strap beneath his chin when a hand tugged urgently on his jacket. He stopped and raised his visor, looking down to meet startling green eyes.

Nora grabbed his hand and turned it over. She pressed something small and smooth into his palm. “I put this together for you,” she said rapidly, under her breath like she was hoping that her mother wouldn’t hear. “It has all of the Supernatural novels on it. In case you need to do more research.”

“Thanks, kiddo.” He glanced at the tiny flash drive and tucked it securely into his jacket’s zipper pocket. “I’m sure this will help.” Then she surprised him by throwing her arms around him and burying her face into the side of his neck. “Woah, hey …” he twisted awkwardly on the bike and managed to wrap his arms around her.

She mumbled something against his shoulder. He ducked his head closer to hers and shot Carly a lost look; one that she reflected with a helpless shrug. “Nora, I can’t hear you,” he said, trying to speak quietly.

“Your book is on there, too,” she whispered. “I read it. I read it and you should have told me, you should have told -”

Blake pushed her away just far enough to look into her eyes. Chilling anger was simmering up through the crystal sheen of her unshed tears as she silently dared him to defend himself.

“I …” Sorrow and regret weighed heavy in his chest for the part he was playing in the destruction of whatever had been left of her innocence.

Nora reached for him again and hugged him fiercely. He let her. When she released him, all of her tears had dried and her gaze was as unyielding as steel. “I put it on there so that she can read it, too. You have to tell her. It’s not fair if you don’t. She deserves to know. Promise me.”

“Nora, I don’t think -”

Her eyes flashed. “No, you _don’t_ think. _Promise_ me, Blake.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said, motioning her in conspiratorially, “I’ll tell her everything when the time is right, if you take care of your momma and promise me you won’t be scared while I’m gone. Think you can handle that?”

She nodded, and the rigid lines of her shoulders relaxed. Before she could change her mind, he strapped on his helmet and started the bike. She stepped to her mother’s side, and he pulled away from the curb.

When he reached the end of the drive and looked back, Carly was gone, but Nora waved firmly. He fixed her face into his mind and turned the corner down the road, urging the bike toward home.


	5. Book 2: Of Wolf And Man

**  
_August, 2012_   
**

Blake rode into town in the early afternoon. The wide open sky did the town’s name justice. Some buildings were new and some were gone, but the scent of the trees and the crust of the Earth spinning past smelled just the same; deep and rich, full of secrets and stories. He passed through without stopping, aiming for just outside the city limit. The small road he was looking for was nearly grown over with trees. He turned right, off of the two-lane and onto the dirt. It wove its way through the woods and Blake followed the twists and curves until he saw something blocking his path, something large and white.

As the shape in the middle of the road took focus it turned into a moving, breathing thing. Blake slammed on the brakes and sent the bike into a slide, nearly laying her down right in front of the animal blocking his path. Cain’s deep bark was the best sound he’d ever heard. He set the Streetfighter down and pulled off his helmet with a wordless yell of greeting.

Cain’s tail swished back and forth at an astonishing rate, and he nearly wriggled out of his skin in an effort to keep himself contained. Blake threw his arms out and Cain exploded forward, launching himself at Blake like a fuzzy torpedo. Blake’s fingers sank deep into Cain’s fur and he buried his face into Cain’s shoulder, forcing deep breaths to keep his sheer relief from spilling out as tears.

“Thought I really screwed up that time,” Blake admitted to the wall of fur. “God, it’s good to see you.” Cain whined and twisted in Blake’s grip until he broke free, then planted his front feet in Blake’s chest and licked his cheek. Blake laughed and swatted him away.

Cain nosed Blake’s shoulder and growled softly, then padded around behind him. When he had come full circle, his piercing eyes were flat and hard. Blake’s laughter died in his lungs, and he scratched Cain solemnly behind the ears. “I know, buddy. I’m sorry.”

Cain sighed and Blake stood up, brushing the dirt off the knees of his jeans. “A minor setback, that’s all.” He regarded the dog coolly. “Don’t suppose you know where I could find a friendly face around here, do you?” Cain jumped to his feet, whirled around, and took off down the road without stopping to see if Blake was following.

Blake picked up the Ducati and gave it a brief inspection. A trail of fine scratches ran through the paint. “Sorry, Carly,” he groaned, and then he called after the vanishing flash of fur, “Hey, wait up!”

He followed Cain until the dog darted off of the road and into the forest. The ground was level at the edge of the woods, but not level enough to take the bike through. He sighed and disembarked, then tucked the bike into the treeline where it would not be easily seen from the road. He removed the saddlebags and slung one over each shoulder. Cain barked impatiently from the thick underbrush, and Blake followed.

They hiked through the woods for nearly an hour. Blake relaxed into the routine, finding it refreshing after so many months indoors, and Cain occasionally stopped to run circles around him as if to say he had been missed.

When they finally broke out into open space, Blake could hardly believe his eyes.

A small clearing lay ahead of them, the dead end of an abandoned road that reached back toward the outskirts of town. In the middle of the clearing, sitting there like it was waiting for him, was Blake’s car. Cain barked his encouragement, then disappeared back into the woods.

“Oh, no _way_.”

Blake walked up and ran his hands over the contours of the Pontiac until his fingers found and traced the feathers of the Firebird, unable to believe his good fortune.

He pressed his forehead to the glass of the t-top and closed his eyes, feeling the weariness in his bones and the constant aching itch beneath his skin. The rustling leaves behind him felt like the sound of the tree calling him home.

The sound of a shotgun being pumped and leveled at his shoulder blades was less mistakable. “Sorry to interrupt your touching reunion.”

Blake’s eyes snapped open, and his breath sent fog across the glass. “Gwen,” he started to say, but she cut him off with all the ferocity of a lioness protecting her kill.

“No talking. Keep your hands where I can see them.” He turned slowly. Gwen had a 12 gauge braced against her right shoulder, but she wasn’t looking down the iron sights. She seemed pale, washed away by the early morning sun.

Blake complied, carefully angling his palms outward toward the forest. He didn’t want to frighten her away, but she had already seen his power. Trying to hide it would only be insulting. Blake let some of the heat he carried flicker to the surface, white fire playing across his eyes.

Gwen’s lips trembled. Her hands, wrapped firmly around the trigger and the stock of the shotgun, did not. She was breathing deeply and she seemed trapped inside of her shock, unable or unwilling to break the spell of their eye contact with words.

Blake slowly lowered his hands, and he whispered her name again. “Gwen, please. Just hear me out.”

The spell shattered, and Gwen’s face settled into flint. “What happens next is gonna depend on how you decide to answer my one and only question. This has one of two outcomes. Either you end up with your brain all over that pretty white car of yours,” she waved the barrel menacingly, “Or I toss you the keys in my pocket, you get inside, and you drive away for good. Understand?”

Blake nodded carefully. “I understand.” He tried not to give ground to the smile trying to tug at the corners of his lips. “...Was that the question?”

Her eyes narrowed. "If this was a movie, this would be the part where I would pump this shotgun again, just to make sure you heard it right."

Blake shut his eyes, because if he kept looking at the way her nose wrinkled up when she got angry, he was gonna get himself shot for sure. “What am I?”

He felt Gwen pause. “What?”

He peeked through just one eye. She had lowered the shotgun a few inches, loosened up her grip. “Your question. It was going to be ‘what are you’, right?”

She nodded.

Blake relaxed, regarding her openly. “I’m no danger to you, Gwen. Or any of yours. I never was.” He bowed his head a little, not really wanting to watch her reaction. “That’s all I can tell you for now.”

Her boots shuffled through the leaves as she shifted her weight left, then right again. The barrel of the shotgun rose. “You aren’t human,” she said, and he was relieved to hear conflict in her voice. “And I let you …”

Blake looked up then, his relief turning to ashes at the stricken way she looked at him. She wasn’t angry or disgusted at all. She was frightened and alone, and he was just one name on a long list of people who had betrayed her.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, moving without thinking. “I’m sorry about your family - I’m so sorry I didn’t get there sooner, babe.” She took a step back, but when he reached to push the shotgun away, she dropped it into the grass and pressed her hands to his chest, offering minimal resistance as she searched his face for answers.

Her right hand slipped into the neckline of his t-shirt, and her fingers felt blindly for the scar that should have been where Samuel shot him. She tipped her chin toward his, eyes widening. He brushed her hair back and tucked it behind her ears with both hands, leaning down to hold her gaze, dead serious. “And I’m sorry I left you on the side of the road like that, and that you had to see me like that - Gwen, I’m sor-”

Then she was kissing him, and he was stumbling backward with her small frame in his arms, the whisper and pull of the Tree silenced by the rhythm of her breath pulling the air from his lungs, giving it back just as strong. She broke the kiss only to tug at his shirt, and he pulled it off and threw it, not caring where it landed. He soaked in the relief on Gwen’s face and the feel of her hands on his unmarked skin where the scars from his wounds should have been.

Her hands smoothed over his chest until they dropped and wrapped around his waist. She turned her head to listen to his heartbeat. “I thought you were dead,” she whispered, “I thought that everyone -”

“Shh, I know. It’s alright.”

“You got away,” she said, more of a question than a statement.

“Told you I’d see you.”

“What happened to you? How did you -” she shuddered, leaning her whole body closer, and he rested his chin on the top of her head. “I thought you were dead,” she said again, sounding for all the world like a bewildered child.

Blake chuckled. “How about this. If you agree not to spray my brain all over the ‘bird, and I agree not to drive away forever, can we compromise and settle for option three?”

Gwen shifted, and Blake felt her lips curve into a smile against his bare skin. “What’s option three?”

“I can’t tell you what I am. But how about you and me, we get in that car together, we take a ride, and I’ll show you.”

She tensed in his arms. He rubbed small circles into her back, waiting for the answer. Finally, she sighed. “That sounds … really dangerous. And stupid. And … kind of fantastic.” She trailed off, pulling back to inspect his shoulder one more time. “You’re really okay, aren’t you?” she asked. “It looks like it never happened. How did you -”

Blake silenced her with a kiss of his own, running his hands down her cheeks and into the collar of her jacket. He pushed it off of her shoulders, and she shrugged it onto the ground. “You know,” he said, snatching words in between breaths, “I got shot in the leg, too.”

Gwen grinned up at him, and her dark eyes glittered. “I should check on that,” she said, but she was only half-teasing. She put one hand on his belt buckle. He reached into the back pocket of her jeans and swiped his car keys, dangling them in front of her face with an answering grin of his own.

The rest was just going to have to wait.

*

“You know what? You’re kind of creepily addicted to camping.”

Blake smiled into Gwen’s ear as he rested his chin on her shoulder, settling his arms more firmly around her while they stared into the flames he’d made. The forest near Lisbon stretched out for miles, and he could sense winged and furry creatures alike watching from the darkness, curious at the presence of a human after so many years. “Kind of goes with the territory,” he answered. “Relax. The fire is our friend.” She huffed a small laugh, then stretched languidly beneath his arms with a yawn, sinking deeper into the blanket that they shared.

“Hey, no sleeping yet. I’ve got a few questions of my own.”

Her eyes slipped closed, but her lips twitched up at the corners. “I might be bribed into answering them, if you ask nicely enough.”

“How’d you find my car?”

A small shrug. “Cain.”

“How’d you know I was coming for it?”

A tiny dismissive wave of her hand. “Cain.”

“Huh. How’d you end up in Blue Earth of all places?”

Her eyes opened again, hazy with sleep and memories. “After Samuel took you, I left. Cain found me walking on the side of the road, and I just … I just followed him. We kind of drifted for a while. I tried hunting on my own but the jobs these days - it’s like the whole world went insane.” She paused, and he could tell she was about to tell him something he wouldn’t like hearing. “A few months back, Samuel contacted me. He said he had a lead on something new, something big. He wanted my help. He told me Crowley was dead. He promised he wasn’t working with demons anymore. I don’t know, I was lonely. I met up with him.”

Gwen’s voice cracked and she fell silent, so he gave her a small squeeze and encouraged, “And then what happened?”

“You probably wouldn’t believe it,” she laughed, sounding nervous. “What am I talking about, of course you would.” When she spoke again, her hesitation was gone. “I got shot, I died - I woke up in a freezer. Try explaining that one to the coroner.” She turned slightly to see him better, and her eyes were open and unguarded in the firelight. She studied his face a moment, then observed, “You don’t seem very surprised.”

Blake kissed her slowly, taking his time to enjoy the warmth of her skin against his, the way her cheeks flushed from his attention. When they broke for air, she was staring at him with a shy, disbelieving smile. “I’ve heard stranger,” he informed her. “I’m just glad you’re back. What next?”

She settled back down against his chest. “I tried to find Samuel. Resurrections run in my family. I was hoping he would know something, but he was just gone. I still don’t know what brought me back, or why. There wasn’t anyone left I could trust. I knew there were other hunters here, and I didn’t have anywhere else to go, so...”

Blake mentally tried several phrases he could open with, but it didn’t seem like the right time for any of them. He settled for, “Resurrections run in my family, too.”

She laughed, waving it all away. “Anyway, welcome to Blue Earth county, Minnesota. Population roughly sixty-thousand back in oh-eight. Before … well. You know.”

“The Apocalypse,” Blake supplied darkly.

“Mmm.”

“What happened?”

Gwen’s voice grew rough with anger. “Way I heard it, the pastor’s daughter was a monster.” She cut her eyes sideways to him, cheeks flushing. “I mean, she was some kind of demon. She turned the hunters against each other, got them to buy one-way tickets to Hell in the name of God.”

Blake kissed the top of her head. “Yikes. How’d they figure it out?”

“Dean killed her,” she sighed. Then her eyes narrowed. “He does that.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Dean Winchester?”

“Yeah, why?”

Well, he thought, taking in their surroundings, in for a penny. “The Winchesters might have something I need. An antique gun that can kill monsters. You ever see anything like that?”

She sat up a little. “You mean Colt’s gun?”

He fought to keep his voice even. “Have you seen it?”

She took on an amused expression. “No one has. The Colt is just a myth, Blake.”

He smiled at her. “You’re adorable, you know that?” She elbowed him in the ribs. He grunted, covering his grin with mock pain. When her laughter subsided, he asked, “Do you think you can get a hold of them?”

She frowned, uneasy. “Of Sam and Dean? I don’t know - we didn’t exactly part on the best of terms.”

There was something she wasn’t telling him, something important. Blake glanced at the inner circle of the tattoo on his arm, pressed against Gwen’s warm skin where he held her. It was thin and small, and shrinking every day. “Don’t worry,” he said, ignoring the roll of nerves in his gut. He pressed a kiss to her temple. “We’ve got time.”

“Hmm,” She raised her eyes to the canopy of trees overhead, seeking past them to the stars. “I can’t believe that all this time I’ve been living thirty miles from this place. Wasn’t it dangerous for you, bringing me here?”

“Yes,” he answered honestly, skating his lips over the crook of her neck, “but sometimes we do stupid things when we …” he blinked, suddenly unsure of himself. “I missed you,” he said instead, “and I just - I wanted someone to see it.”

Gwen’s pulse fluttered under his palm, and she took his left hand in hers. “It’s beautiful.” She reached her other hand up above their heads and ran her fingers through the fine needles of the tree, letting their prickly edges dance across her skin. Blake closed his eyes, felt her touch as an echoing whisper across his back, easing the deep muscle ache where the tamarack’s likeness used to be. He groaned in spite of himself and buried his head into her shoulder, breathing in the subtle scent of her shampoo. He could sense her smile when she broke the silence. “So, when you said that you’re connected …”

Blake’s fingers intertwined with hers reflexively. He moved his free hand lower and gripped her bare thigh, warm beneath the blanket, and pulled her even closer. She laughed softly, mischievous delight rolling across the scant inches between them. She took the fragile branch more firmly in her hand and pulled it slowly through her fingers, teasing each strand of bristles as she moved. White waves of pleasure radiated through him to the core, tilting the world on its axis. The campfire crackled and flared high in the pit.

“When I said … that we were … connected,” he gasped shallowly, grabbing her wrist and pulling her hand away from the tree, “I meant don’t touch it.” The fire danced with anticipation, and the flames reflected in Gwen’s wide eyes as she twisted to look into his.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Her voice carried a thin thread of fear, and she started to pull away. The fire settled instantly. Blake followed her movement, turning her to catch her face in his hands.

“Gwen,” he said softly, “I am dangerous. What you’ve seen isn’t even a fraction of what I’m capable of. This tree, it’s the lock. It keeps me from losing control. But you …” he shook his head helplessly. “You help keep me human. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

Her face softened, and she titled her head to lay a kiss on the inside of his palm. “Alright.” Then she grinned at him, running her hand across his chest. “So, what happens when a stiff breeze comes along?”

He looked up into the branches of the tree and watched them rustle in the soft night wind. The stars above the canopy twinkled and shone, moving through the universe in an ageless dance. “Nothing,” he answered finally, pulling back from the cool embrace of the sky. He tried to think of the best way to explain. “All of nature has a balance, a cycle. Predator and prey, the turning of the seasons, even night and day. Right?” She nodded. “Left alone, that balance would never fail. It could sustain itself forever. The balance between the tree and I is the same. It’s only vulnerable to humans.”

She looked thoughtfully at the tree. “But then, if anyone ever found it here …”

He pulled her close and kissed her, silencing her thoughts. “Enough talking for one night,” he said firmly. Blake sensed the soft press of paws in the loose earth around them. He waved a hand at the campfire, reducing it to embers. “It’s getting late,” he said regretfully. “You can take my car, go back to town.”

He stood and collected their clothes, then passed hers to her before turning to scan the forest. Dark shapes were moving silently through the underbrush. He pulled on his jeans.

Gwen grabbed for the blanket. “What? But I -”

Blake stood between her and the forest edge. “Get dressed, Gwen.”

Behind him he could hear her moving to comply. Seconds later, she draped the blanket across his shoulders. “What’s out there?”

Before he could answer, Cain’s white face appeared in the treeline, and he slipped in between the shadows that peppered the clearing like a beam of moonlight, making no sound as he moved. He came to a stop at their feet turned his gaze on Gwen. She shivered, and Blake put his arm around her. “Don’t worry,” he said, keeping his voice calm, “he’s a friend. He would never hurt you.”

Gwen’s breath fogged the air as she breathed. “I knew he was no ordinary dog,” she said.

“We’re safe with him, I promise you.”

“He doesn’t want me here,” she answered.

“He’s not in charge,” Blake retorted, but there was something more in the dog’s stare tonight and he knew that she was right. “Come on. I’ll walk you back.” Blake took her hand and pulled her through the woods, letting the fire gather into his right palm and holding it in front to light her way. The light held off the shadows as they walked, blocking out spare glimpses of fur and the red glow of eyes watching them from the darkness.

They reached the car quickly, and Blake handed her the keys. “I’ll meet you in a couple of days. There are some things I need to do here first.”

She looked back the way they’d come, hesitating to leave. “Are you sure?”

“Trust me,” he said, leaning his forehead against hers. “I’m not gonna lose you again.”

She let him usher her into the driver’s seat. He closed her door and listened appreciatively to the rumble as she gunned the engine. He watched the car until the taillights disappeared into the mist.

After a long moment, he broke the silence. “Show yourselves,” he called to the bodies in the shadows. One by one they emerged from the cover of the forest, lupine shapes slinking low to the ground, their eyes gleaming red. They formed a half-circle around him, but they dared not come any closer. He took in the sight of the pack with a slight nod of acknowledgement. “I’m going now to greet the Ahblycan,” he said flatly, taking satisfaction in the way they bristled at the use of their Father’s formal name. “Don’t interrupt us.”

Myriad pairs of eyes tracked him as he turned back into the woods, but not a single wolf followed.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/thepostern/pic/00005hbg/)

When Blake returned to the fire pit, the Shaman was waiting. Blake snarled as he re-lit the flames. “You couldn’t give me twenty-four hours?” The man’s glittering stare regarded him steadily, and Blake simmered under the scrutiny. “ _What_?”

Abe pointed a crooked finger at the tree, and the deep shadowed lines on his ancient face seemed like writhing snakes in the firelight. All around the small clearing, the bushes rustled and red glints of eyes glowed ominously.

Blake tensed at the intrusion, curling his hands into fists. Without Gwen’s calming touch, the destructive power beneath his skin threatened to bubble to the surface, spurred on by his sudden, searing anger. “Who I bring here is my business, Ahblycan. Don’t think that the courtesy I extend to you extends to your children.”

The Shaman’s lips pressed together in a thin line, his anger matching Blake’s wave for wave through the cool night air. The teeth on his wolf’s head hood glistened in the moonlight.

“Our Father thinks that maybe you need assistance in keeping on track with the plans he has helped you to lay out,” came an unfamiliar voice from the shadows. Blake clenched his teeth and stared hard at the Shaman, daring him to continue to undermine his authority. A younger man stepped into the circle and stood behind his master, tilting his head as he listened to the Ahblycan’s unspoken words through a bond that only skinwalkers could share.

“Funny he should wonder,” Blake answered the intruder, “because plans have changed.”

The Abhblycan’s eyes narrowed, and he titled his head as if to imply he was willing to hear more.

“We’re running out of time here. I know that. We can’t risk leaving Minnesota again, but there’s one sure-fire way to bring together everything we need. We have to offer them a hunt. And not just any hunt,” Blake continued, locking eyes with the Shaman, “a hunt for an alpha. One the Winchesters have lost before. Something only the Colt can kill. If you do this, they will come, and the gun comes with them. I swear it.”

Abe said nothing, but the shadows around him darkened, rolling like thunderheads.

“You can’t be serious,” the younger wolf snarled, “using our father as bait? We will never allow it!”

Blake finally looked directly at the speaker. Infuriated green eyes stared back, and the younger man’s lip was curled into a snarl so fierce that Blake could almost see the wolf inside. “What’s your name,” Blake asked softly.

“Matthew,” he answered.

Blake nodded. “Well, Matty, I have faith that your father can handle himself. Don’t you?”

Matty bristled, but he dropped his gaze in begrudging concession. “Your plan offers us nothing but pain,” he argued, no longer willing to meet the Ahblycan’s dark eyes.

Blake shook his head. “My plan offers you vengeance. The father of the Campbell line will respond to the call as well. Your pack can avenge the deaths of every father he stole from us.”

From the forest, low bass growls filled the middle space with vibration. Matty’s eyes had gone hard. “How do you know this?”

Blake ignored him, turning back to Abe. “I came back so that we could finish this. I have no intention of backing down. Please. Call off your dogs.”

“There must be only one leader for every pack,” Matty said, hints of challenge threading through his voice. “The Ahblycan called for us. He does not answer to you. You have no say in our presence here!”

Blake snorted. He let the blue of his eyes vanish into pure white flames. The campfire jumped several feet high into a roaring blaze. Overhead, the stars flared, pulsing in answer.

“And I hold the fate of all packs in my right hand,” Blake said fiercely, taking satisfaction in the sight of the color draining from the upstart’s face. “Leave us.”

The younger man snarled, but Abe flicked a sideways glance to him as if to silence any protest. He backed away, melting into the form of a reddish-brown wolf as the shadows closed around him once more.

Blake watched carefully, fully aware of every pair of eyes that tracked him, feeling strangely vulnerable inside the circle. The Shaman dropped his hand to his crude belt and pulled a knife. With his other hand he produced the precious tinder box, carved from the branches of the tree itself. He flicked the knife sharply toward his own chest, motioning for Blake to move closer. Blake shook his head. “Not tonight,” he said firmly. “Not here.”

Abe struck with no warning. The blade of his knife plunged deep into Blake’s midsection, slotting in between his ribs. His strangled gasp of surprise came out as a wheeze. He struggled for air, pulling great, frantic gasps into his good lung. Abe ripped the knife free and shoved it back into its sheath at his side, watching impassively as Blake fell to his knees.

The stars above him shifted and spun, and Blake felt strong hands grip him by the shoulders on both sides, holding him up to keep him from falling. Abe’s blurry image reached one wrinkled hand into the tinder box and scooped out a generous handful of ash. Blake’s blood, wet and warm, flowed freely from his side. His fingers slipped in it where he tried to grab the wound, and the two wolves holding him grabbed his wrists and pinned them behind his back, twisting painfully. The Shaman raised his hand and clamped it down over Blake’s open mouth, raining the fistful of ash inside.

The need to breathe intensified. Blake was suffocating, drowning in the dryness of it. He tried to cough, but Abe’s hand was clamped firmly over his mouth. He heaved violently, body jerking against the skinwalker’s hands, but they did not loosen their grip. The ash began to form clumps in his throat, mixing with his saliva and blood into bitter sludge. He swallowed desperately, once, twice, three times; the ashes turned to smoldering charcoal in his throat, and his pierced lung burned hot deep inside his chest. The healing embers settled there, and the collapsed lung knit back together, pumping in vain in its quest to fill with air. The pain in his side receded, but the night sky began to turn white at the edges.

On what would have been Blake’s last breath, the Shaman took his hand away. Oxygen hit Blake’s lungs like an ice blast. The two brutes holding him threw him down, and he fell coughing into the soft dirt.

The Shaman’s children withdrew to the deep shadows of the trees. Blake curled onto his side and spit, clearing his throat before letting his head fall into the soft cushion of leaves. His blurred vision was sharpening rapidly. Soon he would feel like it never happened. Soon, he knew, he would feel nearly invincible.

Abe was watching him closely as he stabilized. When he was breathing steadily again, he gave a short grunt of approval and turned away, reaching the knife out to the branches of the tree. He began to prune the tree with an almost unsettling gentleness, a sharp contrast to the ferocity of moments before.

Blake rolled onto his back to wait, closing his eyes in acceptance. The Shaman’s firm reminder of exactly who he was and why he had come here had been violent and unwanted, but if he was honest with himself, not entirely unnecessary. More importantly, the message had been delivered, and it was over. The Ahblycan was not the type to say anything twice.

In his mind’s eye, Blake looked down at himself. His own blood was already drying into rust in the denim of his jeans, and the wound in his side was a thin white scar, rapidly fading. As soon as the healing was complete, the rush of power came. Blake rode the firestorm high into the stars. They swirled and flocked around him, moving in groups. He laughed, chasing them like a small child chases seagulls on the beach. There were colors all around him that defied human description, and each star had a song, a voice. They all sang to him, _come home_.

A rustle at his side and the strong touch of a hand brought Blake back to himself. He opened his eyes to see Abe kneeling at his side. Beyond the canopy of the trees, a small meteor shower had begun. Blake grimaced. _Oops_. He sat up.

Abe’s anger had dissolved and he was wearing an amused expression.

“Shut up,” Blake groaned. “It’s your fault, anyway.”

The Shaman held out the products of his careful pruning, several small clippings from the tree. They were all pieces that were old or dying, and Blake accepted them with both hands.

He took several deep and steadying breaths, letting the fire inside twist slowly down his arms and come to the surface in the palms of his hands. The dry leaves started to burn, withering to black in the tiny flame. When everything was reduced to ash, Blake deposited them carefully into the tinder box that Abe held out for him. They repeated the process until the ashes in the box were heaped to overflowing, and when they were done, Abe pulled several sharpened tattooing sticks from his pouch.

This time around the Shaman worked steadily and efficiently, not granting Blake any rest. The night sky faded into dawn, bright colors of morning blurred by the cloying high of the endless dance of power and pain. The sun was well on its way back down again when Blake finally let himself succumb to sleep, resting deeply in the knowledge that when he woke, the sustaining mark of of the Tamarack tree would finally be back where it belonged.

*

  
Nearly four days later, Blake found his Firebird parked in the driveway of a small green house just across the street from the local parish church. He pulled the Ducati into the thin grass next to the car and he barely had time to shut the engine off before the front door swung open and Gwen emerged.

“Took you long enough,” she said flatly. “Gideon was starting to think you weren’t gonna show.”

“Well, thanks, I missed you too,” he shot back, and he was rewarded with a smile. “What’d you tell him?”

She closed the door behind her and threaded his arm through hers, turning them back around to face the road. “Some of the neighboring towns have had skinwalker problems over the summer. He’s calling in backup to help flush them out. I told him you were mine, so behave yourself.”

He grinned. “Yes ma’am.”

“Let me see,” she said, grabbing his chin and tilting his face toward the sky.

He rolled his eyes at her. “I’m all under cover, I promise,” he said, fluttering his eyelashes. “See? Just blue, no fire.” He sent up a special prayer of thanks to Carly for scoring him the contacts. Then he wondered if she heard it.

“Acceptable,” she said, and she pecked him on the cheek. “Let’s go meet him.”

Blake followed her across the intersection and to a nondescript side door. “Gideon’s office,” she explained, rapping twice. “Put this door in a while back. Best to have multiple exits.”

The door swung open. A man in a black shirt and a white pastor’s collar stood in the doorway. He was middle-aged, but well built, and he had the look of someone very capable about him. He greeted Gwen fondly, but with a touch of wistfulness in his eyes. Thinking about his own daughter, Blake assumed.

Then it was his turn. “I’m sorry, Gwen said your name was …” Gideon asked, and he shook Blake’s hand warmly and held it.

“It’s Blake.”

“Last name, huh? Everyone in my town has a first name, Mr. Blake.” It was a friendly smile, but Blake could tell that Gideon was angling for intel. Not only that, but Gwen was quickly approaching a mental Tetris level that would leave him struggling to explain himself for hours.

Blake shrugged and pumped Gideon’s hand again. “You’re more than welcome to give me one, then. My mom never got around to it,” and he smiled to dig the point in a little further.

Crestfallen, Gideon finally released his hand. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, so, about this town of yours. Is it stockaded? I didn’t see anything on the way here.”

“We’re not based in town.” Gideon seemed flattered and explained readily. “It would be too frightening to the majority of a population, those who are not actively involved in the organization on a temporary or permanent basis.”

“I see,” Blake said, “So, it’s not really your town.”

“Pastor Gideon is the mayor, Blake,” Gwen ground out through clenched teeth and a tight smile.

“Oh, my bad. I can’t claim any titles,” Blake admitted, “never got around to those either.”

“Surely, you must have some experience fighting demons or supernatural entities of some kind,” Gideon suggested.

Blake looked down at Gwen, and she nodded her encouragement. He put his arm around her and shrugged one shoulder with humility, “Well, now that you mention it, I did clean out the King of Hell.”

 ** _September, 2012  
_**  
Twenty of them or so had gathered in the kitchen. They pulled their feet up and rested them on the long tables or continued raucous conversations over half-empty bottles of beer or cheap rot-gut, or — in a few cases for the ones on watch that night — cups of coffee.

Blake stood in front of the bank of windows waiting for their attention. Their nonchalance didn’t give him the warm and fuzziest feeling in the world. He crossed his arms and waited for Gideon to silence them.

A few more stragglers arrived and Gideon stood up, lifting both hands. “Welcome. We have some new faces among us tonight. It is prudent on your parts not to offer immediate trust to anyone. So many of our experiences in these last days have made that a precious commodity.”

The crowd began to quiet and shift up straighter in their seats. The larger men grumbled and leaned towards one another in quiet discussion.

Gideon continued, “But the man who will speak here tonight has been proven worthy by others whom I respect. He deserves to be heard. I’m not telling you to believe what he says, and I’m not telling you that we will be adopting his beliefs or employing his tactics for our missions. We still live by a democratic government and that foundation has not been lost. I ask you to listen to the words and decide for yourselves. We will act together. Blake, please proceed.”

Blake put on as much of a soldierly bearing as he could manage and walked front and center. “Thank you, Preacher.” He picked out the few faces in the crowd that he knew: Gwen, to his far left seated at a table of strangers, and two men who had been on watch the night before, Riley and Clay, were leaned on the table furthest away from him.

He straightened his shoulders. “This,” he said, and pointed behind him at a large circle drawn on the window pane, “is our perimeter.”

“Ain’t a circle,” said one.

“And you left out the watch posts and the local geography—,” began another.

Blake saw Gideon shift in his seat and he raised his voice over them authoritatively, “And this is the ground that you defend here and it’s the ground you defend on your missions with your friends. It’s the circle of your own defense and it’s the circle of your friends who have your back. It’s the most powerful geometry in the universe and if you don’t have those two things, watch towers and landscape aren’t going to mean jack-all.”

The men settled and Gideon was eyeing him with surprise. Gwen looked smug.

“Second best geometry,” Blake turned, “is this.” With a marker, he drew a six-pointed star inside the circle. That did not go over well, either. The sound of chair legs scraped across the floor in a few places behind him. He kept drawing anyway. “For every monster you hunt and kill, you hit one of these points. It makes no difference how many kinds of monster there are or how they have changed since the last time you saw one.”

Blake pointed at one corner of the star inside the circle, then directed the marker toward the back of the room _. Time to draw on people._ “Riley, how do you kill a vampire?”

The largest of the men leaned back on the rear two legs of his chair and smiled like it was the easiest question in the world. It was. Blake knew it was Riley’s favorite thing to hunt. “You cut off its head.”

“With what?”

“With the sickest, sharpest blade that Riley Saunders can make you,” the man gloated.

“Are those generally made of metal?” Blake clarified. The room laughed.

“Obviously.”

“Alright,” Blake smiled and he turned and added a symbol to the edge of the star: EL. “Who’s next? Clay, what about a werewolf, a shapeshifter or a skinwalker?”

The man beside Riley leaned forward and squinted curiously at the drawing. “Silver bullets.”

“Okay,” Blake said, “Where does that go on here? Metal, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“You guess right. Same goes for lead, iron and — believe it or not — blood.” Blake completed a precise about-face and wrote down the names of every kind of monster that could be mortally wounded or killed with those weapons. It was a long list. When he was done, he turned to a row of hunters eager to answer another question. “How do you debilitate a demon, gentlemen?”

Hands and voices went up.

Blake turned as the room expanded with the volume of words on their lips and demonstrated the point of the star that represented water: IE.

“Anyone here ever faced a demigod? How about a revenant?” Amid the answers, Blake again updated the star with the assignment for wood: IO.

Immediately, he added the letters IN and pointed to it. “My private bottle of whiskey to the one who knows that one.”

Gideon waved a hand at the star, “The inferno.”

“Fire. You got it, preacher, but I didn’t think you imbibed on the fire water yourself,” Blake smiled.

“I might be persuaded to share with the men from time to time,” Gideon smiled slightly to whoops of encouragement.

“Guys,” Blake paused to look at each of them, “each of these is a natural element. It was here before us and it’s going to be here after us. You know that cliché your mothers all repeated when we were young tots, raising hell: that she brought you into this world and by God, she’s gonna take you out. No offense, Preacher.”

Gideon shut his eyes and waved forgivingly.

Two more elements were added to the construct. ON, VO. “Earth and Sky. Salt, pepper, goofer dust, your Aunt Bertha’s organic compost. It’s dirt. It’s gonna slow them down and then it’s gonna bury them.” A shout went up and one lone voice asked, “What about Sky, genius?”

Blake stared at the drawing, thinking. Then he faced the young man standing in the oversized shirt with the dirty face and turned his eyes down thoughtfully. When he lifted them again, he answered, “And God said, ‘Everyone who calls on my name will be saved.’ Romans, chapter ten, verse thirteen,” Blake strode toward the young man with an intensity that made a few of the men back away.

Appearing much younger up close, the younger man clamped his mouth down tight and held his ground when Blake invaded his space.

“What’s your name?”

“Jason.”

“Good name. A warrior’s name. Jason, when the nuts hit the crisper, do you want these guys to back you up?”

Jason swallowed hard and nodded, “Yeah. ‘Course I do.”

“Then I’m sure that all you have to do ... is say so.” Blake held his gaze steady until he could see that the point had been processed. Then he socked him playfully in the shoulder and walked back to the windows. “The spoken word is a powerful thing. Use the force, young Skywalker.” A few of the men chuckled and Jason finally let down his guard and sank into his chair again.

“Gentlemen — and ladies — this is the weight of the world, on that window. The reflection of all the fights and victories and losses and knowledge we’ve earned is in that symbol.”

“It’s the Key of Solomon, isn’t it?” Gideon asked.

Blake twisted his mouth. “Honestly? Some of the Key was right on, but those guys were on some serious bong loads when they came up with most of it. That doesn’t really matter. What I am talking about is this.” Blake picked up the marker again and wrote numbers near each point. “Six units of six. We make SWAT teams.”

“Special Forces?”

“Special Forces, sure, whatever name you want. But their focus — their area of dominance — is on the elements in that point. Divide and conquer. We’re always prepared for whatever comes our way. The amount of gear that any single person has to carry is cut by nearly eighty percent.”

“How do you figure it’s eighty for everybody?” A man with a smaller than average build crossed to the front. “How do you account for the fact that carrying around packs of holy water is gonna be thirty pounds heavier than a pile of old sticks?”

Blake appraised him quickly. “How big a boy are ya?”

The man’s stature grew minutely. “Almost five-ten. One hundred and fifty-five pounds.”

“Fair enough,” Blake responded and turned to Clay, “and you are?”

“Six-one, two-fifty,” Clay calculated.

“Gwen?”

She didn’t flinch. “Five-four and a buck fifteen, give or take.”

Blake faced the smaller man again and motioned, “There’s your answer.”

Gideon rose from his seat in the front and adjourned the meeting with the request that any further questions or concerns be raised to him personally. Then he thanked them all for their time.

Blake heard it all like it was far away, in a halo of human reason that was quickly escaping him again, and he could hear the sound of a dog shifting and pacing at the edge of the darkness outside. He dismissed himself and retreated to the woods.

**_October, 2012_ **

Gwen hesitated, looking a little like she had just swallowed a whole net full of butterflies. “Did I mention he shot me? Dead?”

Blake squeezed her shoulder. “Yeah, but you also mentioned he was probably possessed at the time. And you mentioned that he might be able to help figure out who brought you back. And there was that little thing about how we need them up here, since they’re the best hunters we know. And …” He drew out the word until she cracked, letting her lips twitch into a smile.

“Ugh, I hate you. Ok, here goes. Just … let me do the talking.” She dialed Sam’s phone first, but it was no longer in service. She frowned, scrolled through her contacts, and dialed Dean instead. Blake sat down on the edge of the love seat and nudged her foot with his boot. “Anything?”

“Shut up,” she said, putting her hand over the receiver. “It’s ringing.” She sat on the bed across from him, listening intently. Then her shoulders straightened and she snapped her fingers toward his face. “Hey, Dean. It’s Gwen.”


	6. Book 2: Of Wolf And Man

**_November, 2010_ **

Dean forced his fingers to loosen up a little on the steering wheel. “I’m telling you, every friggin’ time we come here, people are too busy being incompetent asswipes on the wrong ends of gun barrels to help us with anything.”

Sam just shook his head, the corners of his lips twitching up into the ghost of a smile.

“Something I said seem funny to you?”

“No, ‘course not,” Sam replied quickly. “Just …”

Dean grit his teeth as the Impala rounded the corner. The barricades that had once provided false peace against the whore’s demon army were gone, but the steeple on the white-washed church stood just as Dean remembered it. Several other vehicles were pulling in to the parking lot ahead of them; a Jeep, a couple of trucks and a black SUV. It looked like the militia was still in working order after all. “Just what?”

Sam leaned his head toward his brother, shooting him a pointedly amused stare. “You, Dad, and New Year’s Eve.”

Dean flipped Sam off and pulled up beside one of the Jeeps. “Whatever,” he tossed over his shoulder, “I’m talking about those Bible-thumping psychos, and you know it. You coming or what?” He slammed the door on Sam’s answering chuckle and scanned the growing crowd of hunters.

A blond guy jumped out of the second truck with a whoop and a grin on his face that Dean couldn’t help but mirror. He reached into his jacket pocket and produced two cigars, offering one to Dean in a gesture of celebration. Dean shook his head, raising both hands in polite decline. “Nah, I’m good.”

Before the blond guy could respond, Dean found himself stepping back to avoid one hundred and thirty pounds of Colombian moving at the speed of light. The other guy put his hands out to signal _slow down_ and said, “Easy, Lee.”

Lee embraced the blond man and clapped him firmly on the back, then darted out a hand and relieved him of his extra cigar. “Damn, Hawk. Have you ever missed a shot? This guy,” Lee grinned at Dean and thumped his friend on the chest. “My man, I’m telling you. My man!”

Hawk looked over Lee’s shoulder and directly at Dean as he lit his prize. His eyes twinkled, bright from the rush of a successful hunt. “The help today wasn’t too shabby out there either,” he said to Lee, then extended his free hand to Dean in greeting. “Glad you could make it. Welcome to the team.”

Lee whipped his head around to take a closer look at Dean, surprised. “You know Blake?”

Dean ignored Blake’s handshake and his eyes went hard. “Thought it was Hawk.”

Lee chimed in, “Hawk-eyes, man, ‘cos he’s got the skills. Hundred yards, two hundred – don’t matter, Hawk don’t ever miss. He can see forever.”

“Must be handy.” Sam joined them and handed Dean his duffel bag before he stuck out a firm hand to both of them. “I’m Sam,” he said, nodding coolly at Blake, “just glad we can help. The Pastor is a good man.”

Blake stared at Sam and nodded slowly in uncertain agreement. “... Yeah.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed and he returned the look on Blake’s confused face. “Do we know each other? I mean ... have we maybe met before?”

Before Blake could respond, Dean shifted his bag off of his shooting arm and used it to elbow Sam in the ribs.

Sam raised his eyes to see Gideon come down the steps of the church with a communion tray in his hands. Each plastic cup was filled with clear liquid. At his appearance, the hunters all stopped unloading and moved to form a line. Dean shot an inquiring glance at Blake, who just shrugged and moved to step in line with the rest of them.

“Security checkpoint,” Lee explained. “Everybody gets a dose of holy water.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Really? You guys get much demon trouble these days?”

Lee shook his head. “Nah, but the pastor, he’s just … well, since everything, you know?” He clapped Dean on the elbow and went to round up the stragglers.

Dean fell into step behind Blake, and Sam followed suit.

When everyone had joined the ranks, Gideon walked down the line, holding out the tray to each hunter. He looked different than Dean remembered. It was something in his eyes.

When Gideon reached them, Blake snatched his cup from the bronzed tray and turned to tip the holy water in Dean’s general direction. “Hey, Pastor,” he said, “God sent you some backup.” Blake downed the holy water in one smooth gulp and chased it with a mighty draw off the cigar in his hand.

Gideon’s eyes settled on Sam first, but found Dean soon enough. The Pastor went stock still. Dean cleared his throat and stared at the ground. Lines of soldier ants marched across the bright white asphalt sidewalk, intent on their purpose.

Lee poked his head around Sam’s broad shoulder, angling for a better view. “Uh, guys? We got a problem?”

Gideon brushed past Dean. “Finish this,” he murmured, shoving the tray at Lee. Then he touched Sam lightly on the arm. “Follow me,” he said, spun on his heel and strode straight back inside.

Dean stood rooted in place.

Blake’s features turned impassive and unreadable. “He seems tense,” he observed. Then he blew a perfect smoke ring through the air. It hung around Dean like a halo. “You guys always make so many friends?”

Sam shoved Dean from behind, urging him to move toward the door, but Dean kept his eyes on Blake as they shuffled past. He held Dean’s stare for a few steps, but then he threw his cup on the ground and broke for the woods, still wreathed in smoke.

Dean followed Gideon through a high doorway. He looked up and around for telltale signs of things being off or dangerous for Sam, who followed closely on his heels. Nobody spoke.

Gideon led them through the building, exited the other side and crossed a white gravel wash that smelled heavily of lime. Dean trailed the wash with his eyes and saw that it curved around the building they were approaching on either side and disappeared, some kind of protection or safe house. He glanced behind him and watched Sam step over it easily.

They barely all made it into the room before Dean had to stop short. Gideon was suddenly in his face. “Mind telling me what this is about?”

Dean didn’t blink. “You wanna go first? I thought you’d be tired of heading up the holy roller hit squad by now.”

Gideon appraised Dean with a murderous look in his eyes, which tamed when Sam took a few steps forward, bringing himself into focus. He cleared his throat and started over. “We hunt evil. In case you hadn’t noticed, situations have become exponentially bad since you were here last. Almost every town in this county has a unit like ours. Now, how about you tell me why you’re here, in this place, in my home, with my crew? Who are you looking to destroy this time?”

Sam huffed and Dean turned his head to shoot him a hard glare before addressing Gideon. “We need a word or two with an old friend of ours.”

Gideon shook his head and moved away. “I wish I could say that I was happy to hear that, but in my experience, Dean, you bring more pain and suffering to the people in this town than you bring relief. I’d thank you to leave now.”

“You can’t use two more able-bodied hands?” Sam tried.

Gideon looked Sam up and down but didn’t meet his eyes. “Not yours.” He busied himself with papers and maps on a low table. The two men behind Sam and Dean took that as their cue to step forward and press the issue with the weapons in their hands.

Dean tucked his hand in his pockets nonchalantly and ignored them. “You’re hunting an alpha, right? The king skinwalker.”

Gideon glanced up from his desk to stare at the maps on the wall and his hands stopped moving. “Did you read that on a fortune cookie?”

“We got called here,” Sam replied.

“Gwen Campbell. She one of your crew?” Dean cut in.

“She has been here for some time, yes, after the passing of her family. What do you want with her?”

Sam didn’t disguise a careful glance at Dean, who only blinked and kept his eyes on Gideon. “She’s a ... distant acquaintance.”

“And you want to kill her. Is that it?”

This time Sam couldn’t hold himself back. “No! Not at all. Look, Gwen is our cousin. She called us here to help you guys.”

Gideon moved stiffly to face them again. “Yes, we have had a problem with skinwalkers in this area. I assume that, like Gwen, you have experience hunting down the fathers of monsters.”

“We know a thing or two,” Dean began and Sam echoed him with a sharp nod. “More than we’d like, actually.”

Gideon did not look convinced.

“She called us,” Dean pulled the trump card, “because it just so happens that we have the only weapon in the world that will end your furry nightmare.”

Sam and Dean walked out a few minutes later with their packs and headed toward the bottom of the hill, pausing to gaze at the surprising number of highly organized structures.

“Metal and Fire? Sections Three and Five? Seriously, who comes up with this crap?” Dean commented.

“I don’t know, Gideon seems to think pretty highly of this Blake guy. Or maybe it’s because he just doesn’t trust us together.”

“Try not at all,” Dean said dryly. “And he’s right not to. I’m not gonna tell him how this works out in our favor. They might know you, but they don’t know me. We can keep a low profile, no explanations needed for how you suddenly grew a brother.”

“Speaking of the unexplainable,” Sam countered, “why did you tell Gideon we brought the Colt when we didn’t? What if it turns out that we actually need it? What if he wants to see it?”

Dean fidgeted in his pocket for his keys. “Details, Sam, details.”

“Well, then why are we really here? This place is crawling with hunters. We could have met Gwen anywhere,” Sam asked, but his face gave Dean the impression that he wasn’t going to like any of the reasons.

With a long-suffering glance up to the darkening cloud cover, Dean answered, “Hey, finding out who sent Gwen through the recycle plant would be the biggest bonus round ever, but what I’m really looking forward to is seeing our good friends Walt and Roy again. The fun part will be staying out of their way until we’re ready. You and me — we gotta keep a low profile.”

Sam’s voice dropped two octaves in disbelief. “You couldn’t have just told me that before? That you knew they were here?”

Dean shrugged. “I wasn’t sure until now. But look at this place. Come on, Sam. Tell me that the shadow on our backs wasn’t coming from Miss Babylon 2010, trying to cut us off before we could get to her. You ever hear of any other hunters killing in the name of God like that?”

“Yeah,” Sam said reflectively. “Us.”

Dean walked away down the hill and left Sam standing there.

*

  


Dean was watching hunters move like worker bees in and out of the church, hauling weapons, tents and sleeping bags outside and loading them into the small fleet of vehicles that circled the parking lot, when Lee appeared and slapped him on the back. “Dean, right? You talk to the man? You gonna come on our ride-along? Where’s your brother?”

He stared steadily at the smaller man, and Lee ran out of air, stumbling over his last few words when he realized that Dean wasn’t going to answer. “Uh,” he stammered, “can I … get you anything?”

Looking one more time at Sam’s distant frame, rummaging through the Impala’s trunk, Dean replied, “Yeah. Gwen. She’s about this tall, brown hair, no brain-to-mouth filter. You seen her?”

Lee grinned. “True, true. Just don’t let her catch you sayin’ that to her face. She’s a tough chick; kicked my ass a few times just for lookin’, and that was _before_ she went and got all cozy with her boyfriend.” He angled across the street and leveled a finger at a small green cottage. “She’s been living in the Wilder house since the little old lady moved to Florida. She must be home otherwise she’d probably be standin’ here. Knock first. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Dean blinked. “Gwen’s runnin’ with somebody?”

“Rollin’ around in the ferns, more like,” Lee snorted. Then he clapped a hand onto Dean’s shoulder. “Hey, sorry about your luck, man, but there’s plenty of chicks out there. You’ll find someone!”

Dean nearly choked. “Right. Sure. Thanks anyway, I’m just gonna …” he jerked his head toward Gwen’s house, backing away slowly until he reached the street. Lee watched him go, shaking his head in sympathy.

He passed a white ‘79 Firebird in the driveway, complete with large red wings spanning the front hood. When he knocked on the door, he was rewarded with the click of a hammer pull, and nothing else. He held his hands out where she would be able to see them through the peephole. “Gwen? Lee sent me. I’m not armed.”

“Like hell,” she retorted. “What’s under the jacket, Dean? Don’t tell me just your abs of steel.”

He winced. “Alright, fine. Just my forty-five, okay? I’m not here to hunt you, Gwen. You gotta trust me on this one.”

“The last time I was about to trust you, you took that gun and put a bullet in my chest,” she said flatly. She pulled the door open with one hand, and aimed her pistol at the ceiling with the other. “You coming in or what?”

Dean let his hands drift to his sides.

She turned her back on him and retreated to the kitchen, setting the gun on the coffee table as she went.

He shook his head. That girl was either stupid, or she had some serious balls. He followed her inside. Something about the overstuffed couch and lace doily motif compelled him to wipe his boots on the doormat, and he looked up to see Gwen staring at him with raised eyebrows.

“What,” he grunted, “just because I killed you, that makes me the kind of guy that would track mud all over old lady Wilder’s carpet?”

She handed him a beer still beaded with condensation from the fridge. “Cute.”

He took it.

She studied the shag carpet, hooking her thumbs into her belt loops. “Gideon and his crew ran every am-I-human test in the book on me when I signed on,” she said, “so if you think you’re here to plug a revenant or gank some kind of shifter, you can forget it.”

“Gwen, look -” he started to say.

“Save it,” she said dismissively. “I know what happened. I don’t need an apology. You and me, we’re good as far as I’m concerned.” She looked straight at him then, none of the bravado present that he remembered seeing in her before. “I just want to know why I’m back. You didn’t have anything to do with it?”

“No. I’m sorry.”

She bit her lip. “I figured. But then who … and why?”

He frowned. “I don’t know, but want some advice from personal experience?”

She shrugged.

“Whoever it was, and whatever it is they want, it can’t be good.”

Gwen glared at him. “You think? Gee, and here I was, wandering all alone in the dark like a lost puppy until you came along.” He thought about protesting until she smiled softly. “Relax, I’m kidding,” she said, but she wrapped her arms around herself protectively.

Dean sighed. “We’ll help you, alright? We’re on your side — Sam and me both. We can call Cas down here, get him to check your soul for fingerprints.”

At the angel’s name, Gwen paled, her dark eyes going wide. “You _cannot_ bring an angel to this town! After Leah? Gideon may not mind, but the townspeople around here are still plenty jumpy, Dean. If any one of Gideon’s men caught wind of an angel around here, we’d all be dead. No way, it’s not safe,” she said firmly. “ _After_ the hunt, once we’re clear of this town, I’ll go with you. We can do whatever you want.”

“Sounds fair,” he agreed. “Now you wanna tell me how come it looks like the entire compound is packing for an extended vacation?”

She shrugged as if the answer should be obvious. “Skinwalkers have packed up with each other, formed groups. They’re out there, so that’s where we’re going.”

Dean’s eyebrows raised. “Out there? As in, the woods out there?”

Gwen beamed. “Cheer up, Dean,” she said, thumping him in the ribs. “We’re going camping!”

*

  


Deep inside the woods, two shapes moved quietly through the underbrush. The roof of the world above them was damp and grey, and their voices were muted by softly falling rain.

The first young man’s voice was a low growl. “They’re coming for _us_ , man! I don’t care what Blake says, we have to take them out!” He bent closer toward his friend’s ear as they reached the outer edge of the meeting circle. “We have to do it now.”

“Shut up,” Matty responded, carefully eyeing the others around them. “Let me think.”

Blake stepped from the shadows of the trees, wreathed in mist and hemmed in by the cautious eyes of the pack.

The Shaman appeared behind Blake, and a low noise could be heard on many sides. Abe walked to the center of the circle and rammed his walking stick into the softened earth. The damp breeze dusted over the feathers and shells like a wind chime. The crowd settled and fell quiet.

“There’s been a change of plans,” Blake began. He let them pace quietly and re-organize their thoughts. “Samuel Campbell didn’t show. If he’s still alive, he’s not responding to the call that Gideon sent out.”

A female stepped forward. Her long hair hung in tangles across her shoulders, and her voice dripped with impatience. “And what about his children,” she sneered hungrily, “Are we going to have them instead?”

Abe turned to face her and her skin flushed red. She bowed her head and shrank back into the shadows, but her fingers were curled into claws.

In the answering hush, the fine mist merged into large drops of moisture, playing percussion in the leaves of the canopy around them. Blake walked calmly to the woman and lifted her chin with one finger. She met his eyes defiantly, hatred seething from her very core.

Blake put his hands on her shoulders. “You have suffered,” he said gently, “so much. So much running, so many deaths; the hunters always come for you, don’t they? What’s your name?”

She blinked, surprised, and her shoulders began to tremble under his hands. “Jenny,” she answered, the pained whine of an injured animal threading through the name. The rain fell harder, streaking down her dirt-stained face like tears.

“Jenny, I understand how you feel.”

A hissing sound rose all around the clearing, and everything was suddenly obscured in rolling white clouds of steam. Jenny flinched and tried to pull away, but Blake held her firm. Her eyes went wide with fear as the first of the trees caught fire, popping and snapping loudly under the onslaught of the boiling rain. Yells echoed through the curtains, but her eyes never looked away from his.

The rest of the pack scattered, breaking for the trees. The forest began to flicker and glow as the flames rose, and the heat in the clearing became unbearable.

Her knees gave out, and she sank to the ground and began to sob. Blake put his hand on the top of her head, and she shuddered beneath his touch.

“And now you understand how I feel,” he whispered.

The temperature dropped and the rain cooled, driving the steam and flames away. As the fog cleared, Blake could see the rest of the pack emerging from the woods cautiously, checking their hands and arms for injuries.

Blake’s voice was calm. “Anyone that so much as thinks about going after Gwen -- or her family -- will answer to me. Have I made myself clear?”

The skinwalkers took in the sight of Jenny quaking at Blake’s feet. For a long moment, no one moved, and the only sounds were the beats of the rain and Jenny’s frantic sobs. Finally, an older one stepped hesitantly from the edge of the woods. Blake nodded, motioning him over, and he collected Jenny from the ground and eased her away.

“These new hunters are nothing to joke about,” Blake continued, pushing through the shocked silence. “We promised them a battle and we have to give them one. We need to focus on minimizing the casualties on both sides. The new plan,” he said, “will need some volunteers.”

Matty spoke up quickly. “Anything you need, I am willing and able.” Matty’s friends looked on grimly, muttering to each other behind his back.

“Thank you,” Blake answered. “I need you to act as a decoy for your father. I would have risked having him in the field before, back when the plan was a fruitless, solitary strike. Now that we have a full blown battle on our hands, we can’t afford the possibility of harm coming to him. We have to keep our options open in case our theater changes.” Blake folded his arms behind his back. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but you’ll have to pose as the Ahblycan for the duration.”

Murmurs rose up. Abe began to walk an arc inside the circle, looking from face to face. He stopped before Matty. When Matty nodded, Abe pointed and looked at Blake, signaling his approval.

“Good,” Blake nodded back.

The Shaman left his staff set deep into the earth. He approached Matty and took his face in both hands, his long fingers strong and unyielding. He pulled him forward roughly until their foreheads slammed together and their noses were aligned. The one that had been walking with Matty in the woods made a grab for him, but Matty jerked his arm away, gripping his father’s face equally hard.

They stared closely at each other for several seconds. Lightning passed between their eyes and Matty began to shake, muscles spasming and twitching uncontrollably from the intensity of the alpha’s stare. The electricity started at his head and rolled from his neck into the ground in sheets; wave after wave until his skin began to turn white, peeling and falling away.

Abe took a breath and blew out a forceful puff of air. Matty’s charred body vanished in a cloud of dust that covered them both, black and thick like demon smoke. Seconds later, two wolves rolled out of the cloud, shaking and licking at their coats. Where Matty used to be, a white, heart-shaped face with glacial blue eyes gazed up at Blake in surprise. He twisted his head around to see a new white tail behind him and a reddish-brown and cream version of his old self standing calmly in the dispersing haze. He sneezed.

“Works for me.” Blake nodded in satisfaction as Abe, now the red wolf, returned to his place and curled around the Shaman’s staff. “Part two of this little escapade is that we need to replace as many of the hunters with your kind as we possibly can, between now and then. I know that not all of you have reached that level of skill. Those of you who have will be invaluable for this mission. Any takers?”

Several stepped forward.

“What you do with them in the meantime is up to you. If you have to knock them out and string them up, do it. Remember, this is to save lives. The territory here is going to dictate close encounters. We need hunters shooting wide and blades flying over heads. I’ll be in charge of bringing your father in safely. Understood?”

Several nods surrounded him. The red wolf’s tail swished gently and the white wolf yipped and let out a sharp howl.

“Awesome,” Blake concluded. He raised his hand and poured fire onto a pile of deadwood. The hiss of evaporating water filled the small clearing, and the logs began to glow. “Let’s eat.”

*

  


Gwen’s eyes fluttered open lazily. Pre-dawn light filtered through the vertical blinds, barely illuminating the edges of the bedroom’s country style furniture. They would need to be out by the trucks soon. Already the air was tinged with anticipation. She sighed, not quite ready yet to get out of bed. Blake’s arm was lying heavily across her hip, and she shimmied out from under him, grateful when he didn’t stir.

She dressed quickly, but slowed down to press her fingertips to the twisting leaves inked into Blake’s bare shoulder. The leaves shifted beneath her touch, touching back; a gentle reminder that his extraordinary story was real, that he wasn’t just some insane figment of her overstressed imagination. She smiled to herself and left him there to sleep.

She opened the kitchen window and put a pot of fresh coffee on. There was wind in the trees, and across the street Riley was motioning at someone, last-minute instructions on where to put the extra Coleman stove.

She was two sips into her first cup when there was a knock on the door. When she opened it, Dean was standing on the other side. He was breathing steadily, like he was trying to count to ten in his head. “I just made coffee,” she offered. “Come on in.”

He followed her to the kitchen and she poured his drink in a dark blue mug that said ‘ _World’s Greatest Granny!_ ’

“Here you go,” Gwen said, and the swivel chair creaked as he sat down, accepting the coffee with a skeptical look at the inscription and a murmured thank you. Something in his stance was setting her nerves on edge. “Dean? Something wrong?”

He cleared his throat and took a careful sip of his coffee, maybe trying to count to ten again. There was a long moment of silence before he set Granny’s mug back onto the table. “Our assignments,” he said finally.

“I’m sorry?”

“Gideon sent out a list of all the teams last night. Want to explain this to me?” Dean produced a typed piece of paper from his jacket pocket and waved it through the air.

“Paper? Well, first some guy cuts down a tree -”

Dean’s fist clenched around the paper, crumpling it in the center. “Explain why the water tribe is down one guy from all the other teams, and your little fire kingdom has Sam as a plus-one.” Dean’s voice had gone cold, interrogation mode, but there was a thread of real concern running underneath the layers of suspicion. “This guy Blake. Sam doesn’t remember him, but he’d said you all hunted together before. Did you?”

Gwen took the paper from Dean. It was the hunting camp’s section list. She had helped Blake split them into the six elemental teams a few nights ago, but it looked like Sam had been moved before they handed out the sheets.

She frowned, her mind spinning even as she pitched her voice with just the right amount of careful nonchalance. “Sure we did, several times. It’s fine, Dean. Nothing to worry about.”

Dean pressed his lips into a thin line and stood, turning away from her. “You know something,” he informed her kitchen cabinets, “Blake called me a few months back looking for Sam, asking about things that were none of his business. I told him to shove off. Now he’s here.” When he turned to face her again, his eyes were brewing storm clouds.

Gwen found herself taking a step back when he pointed his finger accusingly at the dead center of her chest, and she shivered.

“This is my brother’s life,” Dean growled, “so don’t tell me not to worry!”

“Blake wouldn’t hurt Sam,” she protested firmly, discovering her voice again.

Dean huffed. “I asked around. I know Blake designed this little system of yours, which means he wanted to be Sam’s new camp counselor. You called us here, Gwen. Right to this guy. So from where I’m sitting, something stinks in Denmark, and you’re right in the middle of the crap pile. You tell me. Can I trust him? Can I even trust you?”

Something inside snapped a little. “Trust _me_? You _shot_ me!”

Dean’s eyes flashed. “Anything happens to Sam because you called me here, and I just might do it again!”

“That’s enough, Dean.” Blake’s quiet voice penetrated the charge in the air, jolting them both out of their glaring contest. It rang with authority. “Leave her alone.”

Dean spun toward the new voice. His hand moved for the gun tucked into his waistband, and Blake took a half-step back into the hallway in response; ready stance. Gwen’s heart launched itself into her throat. “Stop it,” she yelled. “He could kill you!”

Both men froze, each assuming that she was yelling at the other. She suddenly wanted to laugh; she didn’t actually know who she would put her money on.

Dean stood down, but he was glaring murderously back and forth between them. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he hissed. “ _Blake_ is the boyfriend?”

Blake leaned a shoulder against the door frame and looked amused. "I'm your boyfriend?"

“Who I … date,” Gwen winced over the word, “is none of your business.”

“The hell it isn’t!” Dean bristled, and it made him seem stronger somehow. Dean’s tone mirrored the one she remembered hearing from Samuel to lay down his laws - flat and deadly - coiled like a spring and ready to strike.

Gwen’s hand inched for the small pistol she kept tucked under the counter.

“What’s your angle?” Dean’s eyes narrowed. “You couldn’t get to Sam, so you decided to use Gwen instead? What do you want with the Colt, Blake?”

“Why?” Blake asked casually. “Did you bring it?”

He mirrored Dean’s expression perfectly, and Gwen was struck by how alike they were. Dean blinked, clearly put off by Blake’s audacity.

“No,” Dean ground out and his fingers clenched into fists.

“Too bad,” Blake sighed. “We really could have used it to take down this alpha.” He paused to let that sink in, then shrugged loosely. “Come on, Dean, relax. Who exactly do you think I am?”

“I think that I don’t know you, and you seem to be awfully interested in my family,” Dean snapped.

“Fair enough,” Blake conceded. “But from where I’m sitting, I’m the guy who backed your brother on dozens of hunts while you were off playing husband. I’ve been with Gwen since before you even met her. All I’ve ever done with your family is try to protect it. Where have _you_ been?”

“You son of a -”

There was a ripple of charged heat in the air, and Dean’s gun hand moved so fast that if she hadn’t already been halfway there, Gwen never would have outdrawn him. “Don’t,” she barked, leveling the pistol to draw a bead right between his shoulder blades. From the way Dean froze, she knew he felt it. Blake seemed to sag against the door frame, and he was breathing rapidly. For a moment, no one spoke.

“I won’t let anything happen to Sam,” Blake said finally, catching his breath as the adrenaline drained away. “You have my word.”

Gwen watched Dean’s shoulders rise and fall. His hands dropped to his sides, and he gave Blake a short, tight nod. “Fine.” The single word was full of threatening promise. He glanced at Gwen, and she lowered the pistol to the counter top. Her hands were shaking. “Thanks for the coffee,” he said. “Better pack it up. We roll in half an hour.”

They both watched him leave, and she winced when the door slammed behind him. Blake came around the counter and took her securely in his arms. The crook of his shoulder was hot, but rapidly cooling against her cheek. She wondered how close Dean had come to getting himself disintegrated. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into the shell of her ear.

“It’s okay,” she sighed. “He’s just protective.”

“Me too.” He kissed her forehead, then laughed softly. “It could have been worse, you know. At least I remembered to put on pants.”

She groaned, swatting him away. Sam and Dean in the same woods with Gideon, Blake, and a whole bunch of greenhorns. This was going to be the camping trip from Hell.

*

  
Camp watch was selected. The more seasoned hunters in each section were instructed to set up shifts of two men for a twenty-four guard. No one raised an eyebrow at two new hunters being tapped for duty, and Dean had jumped at the chance to get a look around.

Sam shifted his position to relieve a cramp and watched the other side of camp through the binoculars. After a few quiet moments, his neck jerked. “Huh. Unreal. I see them.”

“You do?”

“Yeah,” Sam handed them over and shoved his fists in his pocket to keep them away from the cold. “Two o’clock.”

Dean lifted them and paused over the location. Roy and Walt were gathering up food at a cook station less than one hundred yards from the Impala in camp. “Bingo.”

“Dude, listen. We keep our heads down. We keep to ourselves. We take the reins on the holy roller nurse’s wagon if we have to, but you are not going to blow in and get caught, Dean.”

“I hear you. We keep to ourselves and we keep our distance from each other around camp, just in case one of us gets spotted and needs bailing out. But man, I’m tellin’ you,” Dean grumbled, “ever since we got here, the hair on the back of my neck has been standing straight up. I want to get this over with.”

Sam rubbed his nose and a streak of blackened grease appeared on his upper lip. “Hey, I’m with you. Nobody said that pulling this off was gonna be easy. Gideon isn’t exactly watching our backs.”

“Meaning what?” Dean blinked. “You think he’d blab about us being here, especially since he’s got two new plebes for latrine duty?”

“After what you promised Walt and Roy and the stories they’ve heard, even if Gideon doesn’t say a word, they’re gonna be watching each other’s backs for us anyway.”

“Yeah, well, they should.” Dean returned to his watch duty. “You have something on your face.”

“Where?” Sam rubbed his forehead.

“On your,” Dean turned his head to look, “everywhere.”

Sam pawed at his face and then bent his head to rub it on his jacket sleeve when he heard Dean whisper, “Sammy, don’t move.”

A low growl drifted from the bank of the hill behind them: a spot that was supposed to be covered by another watch post fifty yards to their northwest. A sniffing noise followed the growl and Sam could make out the crisp footpads of two distinct groups advancing on either side of them. He caught Dean’s attention with a small jerk of his head, but Dean waved his hand in front of his own face to indicate that he couldn’t see anything.

Sam risked rolling slowly over onto his back. He reached for the spare rifle and drew his pistol from his jeans with this other hand, flicking the safety off.

A rifle shot rang out from the woods to their right. There was a yelp, and an animal too big to be a dog toppled from the treeline behind them. Its neck skidded and twisted loosely as it went end over end, stopping ten feet from Dean’s boots.

They rolled to their feet. Growls went up around them and two more wolf-like beasts rushed from the opposite side. Sam and Dean opened fire, hitting marks that had managed to get within feet of their position.

Two shooters appeared at the top of the embankment, firing again into the fray. They fired in unison as the last wolf lunged and its body halted in the hail of bullets. It plopped to the ground boneless, its bloody head half-torn away from its spine.

“Got him! I got him! Hawk, did you see that?” Lee was down the hill in three swift jumps and tried to lift the beast from the ground. “Holy mother Mary, he’s massive! Look at them teeth.”

Dean and Sam lowered their weapons. Dean leaned back toward Sam to give him an unmistakable head shake. “Really?”

“Lee, what the hell,” Blake responded, descending with his rifle still tight to his shoulder. “Keep it down.”

“Man, Blake, look. He’s the size of a frikken bear!” Lee whispered and drew his hunting knife to gut and skin it.

Blake grimaced and turned away. His gaze landed on Sam, who had a rifle aimed directly at his face. In the blink of an eye, he fell to one knee just as Sam fired.

A close, canine yelp rose from the edge of the hill that Blake had just walked down. It had been right behind him, waiting to pounce, but he hadn’t seen or heard it. The hillside was overwhelmed with scurrying sounds that melted into echoing gunshots and faded into the distance.

“Woah ...” Lee exclaimed from his spot behind the carcass, then continued his work.

The smile set on Dean’s face was not a smile. “Imagine seeing you two here.”

“Same to you,” Blake said. Clearly shaken, he reached for his rifle and leaned against it to lift himself off the ground. “Are you guys good?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, we’re fine now, thanks.”

“Anytime,” Blake took one look at Lee and then at Dean and pointed toward the hill with his thumb, “I better be heading back.”

“How’d they get past you?” Dean asked suddenly. “The post behind us has a better sight range.”

A chuckle rose from behind the bloody meat and Lee lifted his head. “Hardly. We walk out here sometimes, take it as it comes. Hawk landed the one that fell in your lap, man. He’s the king.”

“Like I said, I need to head back, take care of the other watch,” Blake repeated quietly. “They weren’t as lucky as you.”

Dean dropped his head back slightly, gauging Blake like he wanted to strap him permanently to a lie detector.

Sam walked forward and extended his hand. “Thanks, man.”

Blake ran his hand through his hair and then took it without meeting Sam’s gaze. “Ditto. Good team and all that,” he replied quietly, then walked away.

Sam glanced over to see Dean’s annoyance turn into anger as he watched Blake’s retreating form. He shook his head and gathered up their gear.

*

  
The camps were subdivided by section in a clearing on the south-facing side of a lake. Fires were already being lit to stave off the encroaching cold of an early winter night. Most of the vehicles were parked strategically in crescent shapes, affording some protection against intruders.

Dean stalled as long as possible, checking his phone and inspecting their gear, until Sam finally gathered their bedrolls from the trunk and headed toward the fires without him. When Dean caught up, Sam didn’t acknowledge him. The ground crunched under their feet as they walked, stale frozen crisps that turned into earth again at the touch of heat.

“I don’t care where you sleep, Sam, I’m sawing my logs in the car.”

“You’re not staying with your section? But it’s a real camping trip, Dean,” Sam teased. “Did you bring marshmallows?”

“Sure, I brought a big bag and I’m going to stuff them all in your mouth at the same time. By force, if necessary.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “You know what? You suck at pretending that me being around Blake isn’t freaking you out.”

“I’m not freaking out,” Dean objected quickly.

“It’s freaking out,” Sam retorted, “when the chance that he’ll be around makes your idea of keeping a low profile fly right out the door. You won’t tell me what happened to set you on edge about this guy, and I quit asking you because that’s what you wanted.”

“I wasn’t kidding about the car. I hate camping, Sam.” Dean winced into the biting wind and pulled on the collar of his leather jacket. “You know that. We could have a roof over our heads somewhere.”

“Oh yeah, nice and abandoned houses with no running water,” Sam reminded him, “full of rats.”

Dean glared at him sideways.

“Good times,” Sam added.

“Now you’re putting this thing up by yourself.” Dean swung a shoulder downward and the huge green plastic duffel slid from his back and plopped onto the ground, toppling over and rolling almost thirty feet down the grade and into one of the camps.

Dean suddenly looked too beat to play chase, so Sam walked absently after it, stumbling over thoughts of hot dogs on old, dead sticks cooking at a campfire, dead bodies, shadowed halos, stark death, and blurry smiles of contentment on his dad’s face.

A large bonfire was surrounded by pocketed ones in various stages of life, some low and glowing, others bright and licking at pots of food. Blake’s was small. Sam approached at an amble, regarding Blake as he sat on a well-worn camp stool, his booted foot still slung over one end of their duffel, saved from a certain demise in the flames.

“We meet again,” Sam said. Blake didn’t look up at first. He was muttering something under his breath, like someone you’d expect to see on a cell phone. Sam leaned forward just to make sure. “Blake?”

He startled. “Yeah? Oh, hey Sam.”

Sam’s forehead furrowed momentarily. “You alright?”

Blake held his drink in one hand and made a fist with the other, switching hands back and forth a few times. “Yeah. Just running over some strategies in my head.”

“You’re sweating.”

“Guess I’m more nervous than I thought. I could use some good company.” Blake shrugged, but then grinned unexpectedly, running a hand over his sun-bleached hair and scratching the back of his neck. He looked around Sam nonchalantly. “Where’s your brother?”

More than a little weary, Sam took the chance to unwind. “Oh, probably off somewhere pushing baby strollers off cliffs, or drowning kittens ... running over bunnies, maybe.”

Blake chuckled. “Are you fraternizing with the natives, Sam?”

Sam shook his head. “Maybe some other time.”

Dean stepped into the ring of light, wordlessly helping Sam pick up the odds and ends that had escaped from the sack when it rolled down the wash.

“Hello, Dean,” Blake offered.

After a pause, Dean rounded to face him with a meditative tilt of his features.“Man, you have some nerve.”

“Excuse me?”

“I just think it’s convenient … that ever since we got here, you’re around every single time I even _think_ about a piece of bad news. You call up my brother looking for a gun most hunters don’t even know exists. You’re holed up in the one town on Earth that no one in their right head would come to willingly. The closer we got to you and this pathetic stretch of country, the thicker the monsters got. You’re smooth talking everyone and you’re … sleeping with my cousin.” His eyes lacked the smile that slid across his mouth. “So, you _are_ excused … I’d say that’s more than enough reason to steer clear when I see you comin’.”

Blake stifled a sharp laugh by turning it into a cough and an awkward smile. “Oh. I didn’t realize. I owe you an apology.”

That drew a long pause and an actual glance of gratitude from Dean. “Okay.”

”I’m sorry that my eyes are better than yours,” Blake said, smiling.

Gear in hand, Dean marched toward him. “How about you go f—”

“Dean!” Sam interjected, but Dean already had a finger pointed at Blake that rotated back toward Sam’s face.

“— yourself, superstar. You might have all the rest of them convinced that your crap doesn’t stink, but you’re not shining me. When this whole thing blows up in everybody’s face, and it will, _he’s_ not gonna be standing next to you.”

Sam looked stunned.

Blake tilted his head and pulled his phone from his jacket. “Sure, let me just make a note on my calendar. About when is that gonna be, Dean?”

“Go to Hell.”

Nonplussed, Blake rebounded. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Dean gave Sam a stern look, then shot Blake full of arrows with his eyes. “You do that. Sam? I’m going to the car.” He stalked off with his gear slung over his shoulder.

“Vastly more comfortable than Hell,” Blake shot back as Dean disappeared into the dark.

Sam hid a cringe under the guise of retrieving their tent from near Blake’s feet. “If you’re looking to make an enemy, you’re well on your way,” he observed, but instead of shouldering his gear, he started to set up the tent beside Blake’s.

Blake raised his eyebrows. “You’re gonna stay?”

Sam huffed as he snapped the thin black support rods in place. “Trust me, it’ll be quieter down here.”

Looking up at the stars, Blake took a small almanac and journal from his pack on the ground and leafed through the pages. He re-plotted a few astronomical points in the journal, leaving Sam to his work. When he was done, he looked up to find that Sam was finished, too.

He cleared his throat. “I like your brother, Sam, I genuinely do, but I don’t think he likes me very much.”

Sam dusted his hands on his pants and threw his bags into the tent. “You have a funny way of showing it. He’ll come around when you stop being such a dick. He just needs some time.”

“I have my reasons,” Blake said dismissively. “I can’t say that I blame him for being protective of you, especially considering your abilities. And he just got you back, right?”

Sam’s slanted expression turned steely.

Blake held up his hands. “You and I were friends, Sam, trust me. I keep my ear to the ground. It’s not always good things that people say about you and your brother, but I don’t judge a book by its cover.” Blake picked up a nearly empty beer and sipped it pensively. “Sometimes I wait for the movie to come out.”

Sam looked stricken, and he lowered himself to sit cross-legged in the dirt. His face reflected deep feelings as he stared into the fire. After a few minutes, he risked a sideways glance at Blake. “Didn’t know you knew all that.”

Blake offered a friendly smile. “You and Gwen used to be, well, I won’t say close, but let’s say that I know more about you and Dean than most, and I can relate.”

Sam’s head jerked in surprise. “How is that?”

“I’ve been looking for the same thing as you: answers. If I’d had someone like your brother, I probably would have had more luck,” Blake said pointedly. “There were a few things I checked into several years back. I heard about strange family accidents and the like, but the kids always disappeared before I made it, right along with whatever monster had been hunting them.”

Sam’s face went dark and still. “Wait, back up. Monsters were after the psychic kids?”

With a nod, Blake set aside his work for the night. “Yep. Vampires mostly.”

“How would you even know that?”

Blake looked at him incredulously. “Because I’m a scholar of the obscure and weird, and because, uh, they told me.”

“What?” Sam struggled to keep his voice low and he rubbed his fingers across his forehead. “You mean to tell me that a monster ... all monsters are hunting ... just specific children?”

Shaking his head slowly, Blake leaned forward. “Not all monsters, but enough of them. Think about it, Sam. On one hand, there’s prophecies about the end of the world. On the other hand, you’ve got these human kids popping up that can do all kinds of stuff that they shouldn’t be able to do. For any living thing that prefers this life to a Hell on Earth? The smallest indication that a kid wasn’t normal would make that whole human bloodline a target. It’s step one in preventing a hostile demon takeover.”

“They were trying to prevent the apocalypse.”

“Did you and Dean think it was just entirely random?”

Sam blinked, looking into the fire like his entire world had turned upside down. Finally, his jaw twitched, but he wouldn’t look directly at Blake. “Are you one of us?”

“No. Not exactly.” Blake fidgeted. “And if I was, I wouldn’t go around telling people, would I?”

Sam’s shoulders remained tense, but he smiled softly. “No. I guess not.”

“Sam, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot or anything.” Blake shuffled the pile of research into his arms and got up.

He walked to his tent, deposited the books, and grabbed a heavier jacket. Pulling the jacket on, he raided the ice chest for another beer and took one last look around. His eyes landed on the plastic bin of dishes. Shrugging the bottle under his arm, he lifted a mostly clean tin mug out of the pile and rubbed the edges clean with the jacket.

When he returned to the fire, Sam was still there. He reached for the communal coffee pot, filled the mug to the brim and handed it to Sam, who blinked as he accepted it. “Sorry. I just ... need to think.”

Blake shrugged his acknowledgement and returned to his chair. He took a rolled cigarette from his jacket pocket and lit it with a long drag, holding his breath while he flicked out the match. Then he grabbed the nearly frozen bottle of beer and held the side of it up to his mouth as he exhaled slowly. The smoke clung to the bottle, and he twisted it around in his hand, watching it move and curl. “Yeah, well, you’ve got a friend here. You always have. You and Dean.”

Sam watched Blake closely. “Right.”

Neither pushed the conversation. They sat in silence while Sam thought and drank his coffee.

“We could start a club,” Blake suggested suddenly and smiled sideways into the neck of his beer.

“Section 5 is kinda lame,” Sam agreed. “How about the All Boy’s Club?”

“We’d need a tree house for that one. Plus Gwen would hit me.”

Sam chuckled and spun the grinds at the bottom of his coffee mug. “The Expendables.”

“Order of the Phoenix.”

Sam looked up, grimacing at the contemplative look on Blake’s face. “Now that’s taking it too far.”

Blake frowned. “What’s wrong with it?”

Sam’s eyes searched Blake’s. “Seriously?”

“It’s a good name,” Blake protested, looking a little uncomfortable.

Sam’s mouth dropped open. “You know all this stuff that nobody else has ever even dreamed of adding up, but somehow you’ve never heard of Harry Potter?”

Blake wrinkled his nose. “Who?”

“Man, that rock you live under must be super cozy,” Sam said, giving up his losing battle.

Blake shrugged. “It only gets the History channel.”

Sam watched Blake turn back to the flames, settling quietly into his chair. There was a comfortable familiarity between them that Sam couldn’t quite put his finger on. They had probably talked late into the night like this before, lots of times. He wished he could remember. He wondered what they really knew about each other. Blake must know way more than average, and Sam found himself wishing that everyone was as accepting of him as Blake was being. That was an uneasy amount of wishing.

It must have been some kind of bond to not seem to suffer in the face of Dean’s anger... or maybe it wasn’t that at all. Maybe the difference was him. In the old times, he would have walked away to follow Dean. He would have knocked on the roof of the car and tried to convince his brother not to lose his cool. But not now. He thought he would miss that need - to be in each other’s business all the time - like Dean obviously did. But now it was like opening a door to find a dark, empty room. There was no reason to go in.

He studied the bottom of the mug peacefully and listened to the sounds of the camp settling for the night. Trees that had been cloaked in yellow and orange from the fires were slipping silently into red. Winds from the north gentled and swayed to the west after sending in a wave of cloud cover.

Blake went to bed. After watching the dying flames for a few more minutes, so did Sam. Heavy silence penetrated the ground, dragging under the minds of hunters lying down for a moment’s rest. It felt like something was watching, but nothing was out there ... no one.

_There was screaming everywhere. Voices and sounds and sights turned his blood to ice and his limbs to stone. The only thing that he could move were the muscles under his skin, and he could crawl with them if the surface was smooth enough. He crawled somewhere, anywhere, but it didn’t stop._

_They flayed him. His nerves splayed out and took root in the ground where he lay sprawled, forced to drink from the screams and fear and blood of his brother. Whenever he was moved, dragged, ripped from his place, the roots would tear and bleed out. They would grow and be torn out again, an endless garden of souls, cut and withered for the senses of another, tossed into a heap, but never dead._

Sam woke up in the tent, birds cawing and chirping in the trees above him.


	7. Book 2: Of Wolf And Man

Dean navigated around the corner onto the main street and was assaulted by a cacophony that reverberated off the buildings and pounded through his chest. The hunters were an army, preparing for battle. He looked for Sam in the hustle of people and rolling equipment around him, but he was nowhere to be seen.

A procession of pickup trucks, Jeeps and a Hummer rumbled by. The vehicles carried two men apiece, each armed with tactical gear and vests. A couple of the larger vehicles had a third guy manning an SMG mounted to the roof. Dean pulled his collar higher and waited for them to pass, then made a beeline in the direction of three men waiting by a soccer mom van with the side door wide open. One of them looked very uneasy.

“And that thing was huge, standing over me, man. I was about to call game-over, but Spencer took it out like it was nothin’. Big hairy dude was in his face and he just went ape on it, flames shootin’ out thirty feet. There was nothing but string cheese left.” The man let go of his rifle strap and grabbed the shoulder of the smaller man beside him, rocking him back and forth.

With an uncomfortable smile, Spencer pulled his shoulder free and stepped away from the two men, heading toward his place in the driver’s seat. “I remember when you guys didn’t have a single good thing to say about what Blake has changed around here,” he called over his shoulder.

Dean ducked his head to hide an eye roll and recovered in time to see the third man, who had been nodding with amusement, use a similar expression.

“Yeah, Spence, we get it. You guys are the hot shots. Okay.” The third man shook hands with the larger man and then jerked his thumb behind him. “Gotta dig up Riley and that damn truck outta of whatever watering hole they fell into. See you after?”

The larger man — Dean recognized him from Sam’s description as Carter — waved him off in reply. “Seeing as how you still owe me a six pack,” he shouted at his friend’s back, then shifted his attention to Dean, looking him up and down. “Can I help you?”

“Have you guys seen—” Dean started, but a familiar movement came into view through the open door and windshield of the van. His eyes darted to a spot over Carter’s shoulder.

Carter squinted and then followed Dean’s gaze. Sam walked up to the van and opened the passenger door. “Finally,” Carter shouted, punching Sam in the elbow, “get your crap out of that seat and into the back. Blake’s ridin’ with us today.”

Sam nodded and yanked his pack off the floorboard and onto his arm again. When he looked up, Dean was standing in his way. “Dude, what are you doing here?”

“We need a minute,” Dean said hurriedly, pulling at the edge of Sam’s coat.

Sam tossed his pack in the side door and followed him around to the back bumper, glancing diplomatically back at Carter’s impatient expression. When they were out of sight, Sam let his frustration show. “Hey, I thought we agreed to keep our distance from each other in town, keep our heads down.”

“We did.”

“Well, then what is this?”

Dean’s eyes were like steel and his chin jerked in the direction of the van. “We’re bailing. Get your stuff.”

“What?” Sam hunched forward like he’d heard him wrong. “No, we’re not. Tell me what’s going on.”

Dean shook his head. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Sam. Blake is going out of his way to keep us apart —”

“You _wanted_ us apart when there’s hunters around!”

“— and now you’re riding with him? What if something happens? What if he says something, or does something, and we’re in the middle of a fight and you get a grand mal in front of everybody and I’m not there, huh, then what?”

“Dean, calm down.”

“No, I’m not gonna calm down,” Dean lowered his voice. “I don’t care anymore about getting my licks in, or finally getting to kill an alpha, or making friends and influencing people. We’re outta here because this is too risky for you. I don’t like how this guy is in our face every time we turn around and that’s the end of it.”

Sam shook his head and Dean waved his arms in exasperation. “Isn’t that what you’ve been waiting for me to say? Getting around to, hey, maybe I should be looking out for you first?”

“I’m not gonna have a problem, okay? Blake’s got my back. I’m not worried,” Sam said quietly, glancing around cautiously at the soldiers gearing up around them. “To be honest, he’s a lot less scary to me right now than you are.”

Dean’s shoulders squared up and fell just as fast. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Look,” Sam bit out, gesturing with a stiff finger, “you’re not even following your own rules right now. You could blow our cover just by standing here. If we left before a fight like this, they’d be crazy not to have somebody follow us. How is that keeping either of us safe?”

The fire in Dean’s eyes iced over. “Fine.”

Sam dropped his hand and stared at him for moment with his jaw working, then took a deep breath. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll be careful.”

Dean tucked his head toward the ground so that he didn’t have to watch Sam walk back to Carter and his spot in the back seat. Two soldiers walked by, amicably arguing about proper grain counts for reloading ammo. Dean raised his eyes from studying the pavement. Everywhere he looked, he was the only one standing alone.

*

Sam was staring at his hands, lost in thought. He started when the side door of the van slid shut beside him. Blake jumped into the passenger seat and slapped Spencer’s shoulder. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road.”

The van started up, turning out from the throng of parked vehicles and into the waiting line. Gideon’s Bronco was leading the way. They merged in fifth from the back, and Blake flipped the switches and dials that had been Sam’s job the last time out. Static, channel and squelch adjusted, he checked in with base. “This is car three. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot is taking so long up there, car one? Over.”

The line clicked and Gideon’s driver responded, “Trip car, this is Air Force One. We were just saying a prayer — that your woman gave your ass back to you in one piece and you’d be joining this escapade today.”

The air crackled and then went silent. A woman’s voice broke over the speaker, “Don’t think we have time for a prayer that long, Carl.”

Kicking a leg into the front of the cab, Carter chuckled. “Man, Blake, did you get your jewels caught in your lady’s purse again?”

“Damn it, Carter, is that necessary?” Blake grimaced.

Spencer looked confused. “Isn’t that where they all keep them?”

Sam, Blake and Carter all laughed despite themselves. “That’s not what he was talking about, Spence. Keep your eyes on,” Blake pointed out the windshield and then bent into the floorboard to cinch up and holster his guns.

“Where we headed?” Carter asked.

“There’s a farm. It’s about a hundred and forty miles east from here, off the highway. If the sources are good, the alpha will be there and if we play our cards right, we can find out what his master plan is.”

“I thought we were going to kill him,” Carter sounded skeptical.

“Well, he’s not much use to us dead, is he?” Blake clarified. “First, we question him. Then you can do whatever you want.”

Sam asked coolly, “Who are the sources, Blake?”

Blake’s guarded expression mirrored his. “Nobody you know,” Blake replied.

“That why we’re going in at broad daylight?” Carter smiled.

“They’ll have more of an advantage at night, you know that. Cloudy day at high noon is our best chance,” Blake offered. Then he smiled back flatly. “I’m getting the distinct impression that you don’t trust me, Carter.”

“Oh no, it isn’t that. I was just wondering why you’re back here with us, riding coach, when you should be leading this charge, like your woman up there. You know more than anybody.” Carter’s eye flashed for a second and Sam caught a glint of red, like somebody was playing with a laser sight.

Blake dropped any gentility left in his expression and his tone was sharp. “I don’t appreciate you questioning my decisions. And that’s the last time you’ll dare to think her name, let alone breathe it.” Blake looked away from Carter, studying the road ahead. “If the alpha knows where to find me, it’s because I know where to find him.”

The van was silent for a few minutes.

“Blake?” Spencer asked quietly, “Does that mean he’s after you, too?”

Sam’s mouth pressed into a line that matched the ones in his forehead. He turned his head away from everyone in the van, toward the warning Dean had given him in town.

*

  


A flock of black starlings shrieked and took flight from the scrub trees as soon as the Section Three vehicles struck off-road. The advance unit pulled into a clearing two miles from their target and readied their gear for the long walk infield.

Lee was talking again.

“You got any tricks in that bag? Let’s see. Share and share alike, man.” Lee high-stepped behind him, lifting heavy military boots to dodge vines and thick weeds with ease.

The group, most of them proudly wearing patches for Section 3 on their coats, were breaking apart and heading toward their positions, leaving him with Lee.

Dean shifted the pack higher onto his shoulder without glancing around. “I have fifty bucks if that will get me ten minutes of silence,” he suggested.

“You got it,” Lee agreed and continued along, a step behind him. “I have a scope on my Remmy. Since you don’t have one on your rifle, you could, you know, use it instead or whatever, if you want.”

“You’re always broke, aren’t you?” Dean noted.

“Yep.”

Dean stopped abruptly and Lee almost ran into him. Dean waited until there was no sound coming from behind him and then he whispered, “Tell you what. You keep giving away our position out here, you don’t help me to keep an eye on that van, or you in any way keep me from doing my job? And I will see to it that you are more than broke.”

Lee didn’t respond for several tense seconds. Then the top of his dirty red ball cap appeared around Dean’s elbow as he leaned forward. “Okay, Grumpy. Yeesh.”

Silence fell. They picked their way through the rest of the overgrown tree line and worked up a sweat running across a short, fallow field. They slid down a steep ridge and changed course east, following a drainage rut. The sound of their own labored breaths seemed huge around them. Even with their care to make as little noise as possible, the wilderness around them was devoid of any other sign of life. Rabbit runs were abandoned in the underbrush, littered with small bones. The birds were quiet. Dean threw a questioning glance at Lee, who grimaced back.

They trudged up a heavily treed incline to the left. It had been cleared of scrub and provided no cover, so they backed down and stayed inside the blind ravine. Their heads only appeared over the top of the hill whenever they needed to quickly get their bearings.

A dull white strip of gravel peeked through the low-hanging branches as they traveled. Like Dean had planned, their path ran parallel to the curving, unmarked lanes of the road fifty feet beyond them.

The land rose into a line of young spruces and dry hemlocks. They took the hill, setting up a quick vantage point. Across the road lay a dilapidated farmhouse surrounded by several other less permanent structures of different sizes.

  


[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/thepostern/pic/0000a0w2/)

  


Dean peered through his binoculars, checking for movement around the outbuildings. A few things flinched in the wind: bits of cloth were tied to wire fencing, some clothes and a towel hung from a swing, a child’s pinwheel ran where it was stuck in the ground. He lowered the binoculars.

Lee had turned his ball cap around backwards, and he was snapping his chewing gum as he carefully adjusted the scope on his rifle and looked through it.

“Anything?” Dean asked.

“Maybe,” Lee drawled.

Dean glanced around and saw another sight-line further away, then looked at his watch. “We’ve got ten minutes. You hold here while I head into that break uphill.”

“You think you’re gonna be able to case the inside of the house from up there?”

“Yeah.” Without further explanation, Dean shifted his gear around to his other shoulder.

“Go ahead. I don’t need a spotter.” Lee grinned. He adjusted his position until he was lodged between two branches. Then he pointed lazily in the direction of the house. “I’m just waiting to send a postcard to those two jokers down there.”

Dean looked again through the binoculars and saw two large men in fatigues walking quickly between buildings. “You sure those aren’t some of Gideon’s guys?”

“I’m not even sure what particular day it is, man, but I know our guys.” Lee snapped his gum again and gave Dean a hard look. “I know it when somebody wipes their nose or changes their underwear. Those two down there—”

“Alright, you made your point,” Dean said and gestured his rifle toward the ridge.

Lee nodded and turned his ball cap around again to shade his eyes. He bent down to the scope, his right hand rested on the stock. “Aqui, pero, pero, pero…”

Dean closed his eyes in long blinks as he walked away.

The hill cut off abruptly into a deep ravine with gnarled roots, young trees and large stones jutting from each side. Following the edge for several yards, he found a bank of earth that could be crossed without leaving a trail. He would lose sight of Lee and the house for several minutes until he reached the other side.

With each step, beams of light flashed heat and blindness across his cheeks and eyelids. He shuttered his eyes halfway, and through the haze of his lashes he glimpsed dust motes suspended in place, dense air moving like liquid in front of him. They swirled and circled as he passed into the light and out again, brightness striking the trees and his jacket sleeves until he was coated in it. He half expected his foot to leave the ground and never touch it again.

The last time he’d felt this way, sweat had been dripping from his face and soaking his shirt as he sat on the front porch admiring his yard work. Lisa had joined him with a tall glass of ice water, and he chased her across the lawn after she poured it down his back. He’d caught her, pinned her against the side of the house, and held her mischievous hands down with a triumphant grin. Her quick breaths of laughter feathered across his jaw as she pretended to struggle, but it only lasted for a few seconds before she melted into him. He had met her kiss, his last clear thought a silent promise that he would never leave her.

The dampened leaves at the bottom of the draw were as soft as a picnic blanket, strewn on the ground in small ripples that caught at the toes of his boots, enticing him to slow down, to stop and rest, to let things take care of themselves. The steep slope in front of him was dressed in gold and red, sinuous branches reaching toward him, inviting. He blinked again, and slowly in the after-burn of his vision he found her: skin shining and wet in last summer’s heat, her dark eyes flicking up at him, one corner of her mouth racing the other into a wistful smile.

He closed his eyes and bent his knee to climb, to kneel into the earth as in his mind he was kneeling down, feeling his way along limbs, familiar quiet ground. Peace washed over him as he reached her knees, her waist, her arms. The whispering wind was the touch of her hand on his cheek, but as he raised his head to look at her, she vanished behind the shadows of the trees.

His mind lingered as he journeyed past her and he stared in anger and regret at the snarl of briers, dead branches and vines. He held his breath as danger dragged him along, away from her, away from solace, to focus down another gun barrel.

He took up a sniper position, laying belly down in the tall grass. As he attached his scope, it was easy to imagine that firing his gun, just once, would stop the madness, would wake him up, make him come to his senses again, senses that he’d left in her bed, in her arms, where he was only safe to feel things again when he was learning the lines of her face.

A sudden volley of shots split the sky, thundering in between his heartbeats and snapping him back to the present. He held his breath and looked down the scope, panning from his station toward the interruption. The target halo shrank to a globed picture of men and dogs swarming toward the outbuildings and the road. From the look of it, someone or something had tipped them off.

Dean pushed up on his elbows and checked downhill. Lee was peering down the sight of his weapon. He pulled the trigger and a sharp crack from the report of the rifle drifted up the hill. Shouts came from down below, and Lee’s fist rose in a small victory pump. He marked the air with one finger.

Answering shots echoed from the rest of Gideon’s snipers, lined up along the road to cover the train of vehicles. The ground shook violently and a wide percussion of air blew leaves and dust into Dean’s face. He was deaf before he registered that the explosion had robbed him of his hearing. He covered his ears and rose to his knees, fighting the vertigo of the whole world vibrating around him. A red and gray plume broke over the sky above the trees. Something was on fire on the road.

He saw Lee grab his gear and break into a run.

*

  


The van rocked on its springs. Through the splintered windshield, Sam could see at least one of the cars engulfed in flames. The image through the glass shrank and twisted. Wind and smoke was blasting in from the missing driver’s side window.

Spencer was holding his face with two bloody hands. He was rocking and kicking the floorboard, and his screams reverberated off of everything. Blake leaned toward him and pulled at his arms, trying to calm him. The van was still moving, jerking forward and sliding on the gravel every time Spencer’s foot slammed onto the accelerator. Carter undid his belt and lunged forward, too.

Sam scrambled under the front seats for the med supplies, finally tracing them back to the floorboard behind his own seat. He grabbed a shaker ice pack and a towel and held them out toward Blake while he looked for the powder, but Carter was in the way. When Sam glanced up, Blake was pinned against the dash, one hand grappling to free his airway. Carter was choking him, roaring in anger.

There was no way to reach the brake. The image was rotating faster in the windshield, which rattled and cracked loudly as Carter pushed into Blake’s throat. The van swerved away from the car in front of them and now they were barreling at an angle toward a ditch that was deep enough to flip them over. If they did, the gas tank would be exposed to half the field.

Sam pulled his knife from the sheath at his hip and went after Carter. The beefy man took up most of the space between the seats, so Sam had to cram his weak hand around the head of the seat without Spencer accidentally rocking toward him and onto the knife. He sliced the back of Carter’s left arm at the elbow. It severed the nerve and killed his grip on Blake, who took the opportunity to slide along the dash and throw a knee into Carter’s face.

As Carter spun around, Sam pulled him down to the floor. He moved to strike, but the van lurched, causing Sam to lose his balance and his grip on the knife. It spun out of sight as he fell. One of his knees landed on Carter’s stomach, knocking the air out of him, but the other knee slammed onto the steel floor. Sam gasped. He tried to lift himself by bracing both arms on the seats, but he couldn’t get his leg to respond.

“I’ve got it!” Blake yelled.

The van shuddered to a halt, throwing Sam forward again. Carter planted a right hook on Sam’s jaw, and the blow sent crystals of white exploding across his vision. They illuminated the equipment and walls around him into high relief and he caught sight of the handle of the knife, lodged in the cushion of Carter’s seat. He made a grab for it, but Carter saw it, too.

A heavy punch slammed into Sam’s solar plexus, warping his body into a concave shape. He levered himself away, closing his fingers around the grip of the knife as he went, but Carter was right on top of him. The big man loomed over Sam. He was swaying between the seats and kicking at Sam’s legs, looking for an opening, when a square of light appeared behind him, catching him off guard. Sam lifted his good leg and kicked Carter in the stomach with enough force to send him tumbling out of the open van door and into a heap on the grass.

The rapid beat of gunfire escalated around them. Another explosion, smaller than the first, was followed by authoritative shouts and screaming. Blake appeared in the doorway, largely unconcerned by the increasing mayhem. He stood over the coughing Carter with a flamethrower in his hand, aimed inches away from Carter’s heart.

Sam watched as the man rolled in pain and reached his bloody arm up toward Blake, rage and panic blazing red in his eyes. “I don’t care who you are,” Carter sputtered, “you’re gonna get what’s coming to you.”

There was no reply. Blake changed his aim and shot the flames into Carter’s face.

For seconds that felt like forever, Sam watched as Blake torched him, Carter’s screams turning into shrieks that rose from the flames until nothing but smoke poured from the barrel. He shrugged the canister off his shoulders and let it drop to the ground, morosely watching the body twitch, shrivel and turn black. Sam jumped when Blake drew his pistol and fired three rounds into what was left of the embers of the heart.

Blake’s voice echoed eerily through the hiss and crackle of the dying blaze. “I told you never to talk about Gwen.”

Sam coughed and his ears popped. He braced himself against the wall behind the driver’s seat and pressed on his jaw, checking for cuts. Still slumped in the driver’s seat, Spencer groaned. That seemed to get Blake’s attention. He holstered the weapon and climbed into the van, shutting the door behind him.

“What the hell was that?” Sam asked him.

Blake gave Sam a cursory glance, then sat in the passenger’s seat and turned his full attention to Spencer. Taking a hold of Spencer’s arm, he pulled gently. The young man stopped reeling but remained steadfastly hunched over the steering wheel, hiding his face.

“Spence,” Blake said gently. “Hey, dude, let me see. We’re gonna get you fixed up. It always feels worse than it is. Trust me. I’ve been hit in the face so many times, it’s crazy. Spence …”

Spencer raised his head slightly. Blood sputtered from his nose and his hands shook so badly that the steering wheel rattled in his grip. His breaths were deep and wet from raspy sobs of pain.

“There, see? I thought it was gonna be bad. Look at that.” Blake palmed the side of his face and Spencer hissed. “You’re gonna have an awesome scar, man.”

Sam eased forward slowly from the floor, clutching his side in pain, and managed to find the med kit. He held it up to Blake, trying to keep his tone light. “I can’t see you, Spence, so I’m not sure which of us needs this more,” he joked.

“I thought my face was on fire. There was ... glass exploding everywhere,” Spencer replied shakily and tried to look into the rearview mirror. “Are you sure?”

Blake frowned and glanced at Sam as he grabbed a small towel from the kit. “He doesn’t believe me, Sam, but he’s one lucky bastard. Of course if we don’t get out of here in about ten seconds, I may not be able to say that anymore.”

Sam eased up, swallowing hard at the blood returning to his swelling leg and face. “Blake’s right, it’s a rat trap in here. Spencer, can you see?”

Spencer’s hands pulled the towel from his face and blinked quickly a few times. “Yeah, I think so.”

Sam twisted around, hauling himself up to get a better look. Tiny pink marks pocked the left side of Spencer’s face. There was some swelling around his eyes and the towel was doused in blood. It seemed like more than would be coming from just his nose, which clearly was still bleeding, but it didn’t look as bad as Sam had expected. In fact, it looked like a wound that had happened months before. Sam halted a suspicious glance at Blake, who seemed impatient, and cleared his throat instead. “Will the van still drive?”

Blake shook his head. “We’re gonna find another ride.” He gripped Spencer’s shoulder firmly, nodding assurance to the younger man. “And we don’t leave anyone behind.” His gaze shifted to Sam. “We need to find your brother.”

“So the alpha did know we were coming,” Sam mused, levering himself up.

“Understatement of the century,” Blake replied through clenched teeth. “Arm up.”

They gathered their gear from where it had been thrown in the cab. Gun drawn and ready, Blake held onto the door handle. “Ready?”

Sam and Spencer nodded.

“Stay low.” He yanked the door open and stepped out first, breaking for the next car in line, a white four-door. Two men were already taking cover behind it. Sam drew his gun and half-ran behind him, catching sight of the car’s front windows, busted out and bloody, and the back windows hazy with smoke. Spencer followed and landed hard against the rear tire.

One of the men handed Spencer a spare rifle. “Where’s air support when you need it, huh?” he shouted over the din, and a few of them laughed uncomfortably in agreement.

The other man was holding onto a wound in his side that spurted blood past his fingers every time he took a deep breath. Sam tossed what was left of the med kit to the man’s friend.

The battle was escalating. Spencer shouted a warning and then fired over the trunk of the car, cursed, re-aimed and fired two more times. Sam peeked through the blown-out windows of the car and saw Spencer’s target: a young man who had been charging toward them, only to trip over his own feet and fall, red blooming across his chest.

“Riley, have you seen Gideon or Gwen?” Blake asked the wounded man.

Shaking his head, Riley dug his heels into the turf to stay upright. “Jason was with ‘em in the front of the line. They could be blowed up for all I know. We ditched our ride. Couldn’t see what was comin’. That mighta been one of the worser ideas I ever had.” He peeled his hand away to reveal what looked like a deep bite underneath. Blake swore.

Sam checked the magazine in his gun and scanned the area. “Where is it now?”

“Damned if I know. Clay got a bead on it but it took off. Never seen a thing run that fast.”

Sam grimaced to himself as he kept watch. He caught a guarded glance from Blake, who motioned his chin toward the wounded man with hard eyes. Riley couldn’t seem to keep still and there was something like fear and anger beginning to spark in his eyes. Sam tensed.

Riley’s friend pulled the med kit apart until he found the canister of powder. He flung it on liberally to stop the bleeding and coated Riley’s bloody hand in white.

“Stop wasting that on me!” Riley snapped and tried to paw it off. When his friend seemed stricken and looked away, he smacked him hard on the shoulder. “You go with the Fire Department here, Clay. You go and don’t stand up to me now. Your arguin’ always makes me so damned tired.”

“Alright, if you say so,” Clay responded, but he didn’t make a move to leave his friend’s side. Instead, his eyes remained fixed over the top of the car, on the spot that the young man had charged from.

“You better go _now_ ,” Riley added. It sounded like a warning.

Sam and Blake both looked at each other from their spots in the nearly trampled grass and then over at Riley’s legs, which were beginning to jerk and spasm. His back stiffened and he arched off the ground, then collapsed weakly back into the grass, gasping to catch his breath. He reached for his pistol.

Clay shook his head and patted him calmly on the arm. “Not all clear yet.”

Riley’s eyes flashed, and his lips turned up into a snarl. “It’s about to be.”

Without hesitating, he aimed at Clay’s head and fired. His friend’s brain splattered across the hood of the car and over his face. Then he turned the gun toward Spencer.

Blake and Sam fired in unison, and the noise of the gunshots drowned out Blake’s warning yell. Their two bullets caught Riley in the temple, but not before Riley’s last shot found its target. Spencer lay motionless in the grass, his head smoking.

“Dammit,” Blake gasped.

Sam crawled forward and lifted Spencer’s rifle from the young man’s limp fingers, then passed it back to Blake. “If I asked you just what the hell is going on here, would I get a straight answer?”

“Probably not,” Blake replied. “Let’s go.”

Before Sam could say anything else, Blake rounded the car and ran toward the melee. Sam tried to kick himself up with his good leg to follow, but it gave out and the sharp metal of the rear bumper scraped along his back as he fell. Strafing fire from several directions sent metallic pings across the side of the car. The tire popped and hissed, pinching Sam’s arm as it shrank.

He ducked lower, holding the Taurus ready in one hand and the knife in the other, and he wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. To his left, two men emerged from a thick pillar of smoke with packs strapped to their backs. One was firing a flamethrower into the smoke while the other kept an eye ahead of them, looking for an escape.

A hand landed heavily on his right side, a strange grip that dug into his ribs while he was looking the other way. He threw an elbow in defense, but it was blocked.

“Hey, it’s me!”

*

  
“Sam!” Dean shouted. His heartbeat pounded in his ears like a metronome and measured the unsteady pace of his footfalls against the racket of gunfire as it neared a crescendo. He ran to the edge of the road clearing.

Wolves were hunting in packs between the cars, chasing down and isolating hunters. A hunter ran past him between the cars. He raised his rifle and tried to get a bead on the three dogs running behind her, but they kept disappearing as they weaved between vehicles. She reached an abandoned car and jumped in, firing as she went. He took out the last two, but it didn’t save her. The third disappeared into the lingering smoke. He cursed under his breath, finally lowering the weapon.

A few of the cars to his right were still engulfed in flames. The explosion had torn apart the second car in the line, a bare miss for Gideon and his team. The roof was blown completely apart and smoke billowed from what was left of the gas tank. The doors hung from melted hinges like the stunted wings of Hermes’ magic sandals. He tried to remember which car Gwen had been in. The ones nearest him were empty, lying ransacked with their doors ajar.

He called Sam’s name again, but the only responses were gunfire and dying shouts. The acrid smoke blew into his face. He raised his arm as a shield and shrugged away just in time to catch a small movement out of the corner of his eye. He swiveled to face it.

A man stood twenty feet away, rifle angled toward Dean, struggling with the same smoke. They both coughed and squinted to see each other clearly through the cloud. The man’s watering eyes widened.

“You’re dead,” Dean heard the man say.

Dean’s jaw flexed into a tight smile. Through the disguise of thick smoke, he saw that the man had aimed at center mass and put himself on high alert. “You sound surprised, Roy.”

“Walt was right about the evil in you two. Where’s your brother?” Roy hefted his shotgun to hip level.

Dean swallowed. Charred, paper-thin ash and red cherries of burning grass wafted through the air between them.

“Th-that’s right, you stand there and don’t move,” Roy stuttered, “I’ve got back-up on the way.”

Lifting his foot slowly, Dean took a step forward. “What’s the matter, Roy? Why don’t you just do it now?”

“I said stay put!” Roy lifted the gun to his shoulder.

“You don’t think it would work?” Dean aimed an intense stare and took another step forward, then another. “What if that gun isn’t gonna stop me this time?”

Roy jerked the rifle to ward him off. “Walt—”

“Walt’s dead,” Dean bluffed, taking another step forward. “There’s nobody coming for you.”

Roy lifted his head, his eyes large, and shuffled backward.

Only five more steps away from Roy, Dean prepared to close the gap with a single lunge. Roy’s gaze didn’t follow him into the crouch; it shifted upward, behind Dean and into the woods. A low rustle and a quiet growl sounded behind him. Dean wanted to turn his head slowly and look, but instinct took over and he froze.

Eyes steely, Roy lifted the shotgun higher. “Walt, look out!”

Roy’s shotgun blasted over Dean’s head and Dean dove out of the way, rolled in the dirt over his pack and came around with the rifle pointed up the hill.

Walt had been standing less than ten feet from his back, a knife in his hand, and behind him was the largest wolf Dean had ever seen. Its pelt was rusted red and white. Thick black-tipped fur bristled at its shoulders. Roy’s shot hadn’t even fazed it. Red eyes flared as it leaped down the hill toward them and landed at Walt’s side. It looked up at Walt, teeth bared, and growled low in its throat. Walt stared at it and didn’t move.

Dean could see that his jacket and shirt had been torn and shredded at his right shoulder. When he tightened his grip around the knife in his hand, a large bloody gash showed through the ragged cloth. His body jerked like he was hesitating, and his face was pinched with effort.

Roy dropped the shotgun and yanked a similar knife from a sheath on his belt. Then he charged the animal.

Walt screamed at Roy’s approach and covered the ground between them, pouncing on Roy’s face. The wolf grabbed Roy’s arm and shook hard. Roy fell to the ground wordlessly and the knife fell, too. His empty hands disappeared in a mass of fur as he tried in vain to wrestle them both away.

Dean dropped his rifle and reached into his pack. Then he stood and aimed at the three bodies, a mass of writhing limbs and contorting muscle, spittle and blood and flying flesh. He grimaced as he forced his finger to close on the trigger, to press slightly. It went no further. He took a deep breath around the clenching in his stomach. He lowered the weapon and watched until the massacre was over and Roy’s body lay filleted on the dusty ground.

The red wolf shook and licked at the blood dripping from its lips, regarded Dean steadily with soulful eyes, and bounded away. Walt took a knee slowly and wiped his knife on his brother’s clothing, then stood calmly. His burning eyes pierced Dean, and there was nothing human left.

Dean raised the Colt. “This time I’m not gonna be that easy.”


	8. Book 2: Of Wolf And Man

“Gwen! What are you doing here?” Sam’s face broke into a smile in spite of himself, relieved to see someone who wasn’t trying to kill him.

She shrugged closer to the car and blinked hard as more bullets hit the side of the vehicle. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here? You’re asking to get shot!”

“I was supposed to be right behind Blake. Didn’t you see him? He went looking for you!”

Gwen shook her head. “No. Jason and I found a running truck for Gideon and then he and I were coming back to help, but I lost him down by the creek a half mile back.”

“He left you behind?” Sam asked incredulously, to which Gwen only stared and blinked the meaning behind her words. “Oh, he’s....”

“Gone,” she confirmed. “Are you hit?”

“No, just a little worse for wear.”

“Let’s get you out of here.” Gwen snaked her arm under Sam’s shoulder and began to lift.

“We can’t leave Blake here, and Dean, he—”

“One thing at a time.” Gwen lifted until Sam could hold himself up against the car and then let go, arming her rifle and watching for an opportunity. She pointed. “When I say go, break for the trees in that ravine over there. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Right.” He tested his knee by hopping a little and leaned forward over it.

“Go! Now!”

He heard her fire behind him as he ran, his knee and calf burning as he slid over the grass and leaves and tumbled into the small copse of trees and heavy brush. She followed behind him and sunk to the ground to catch her breath. The eight foot hill was upwind from most of the fighting, and had been eroded on one side, forming a natural bunker.

“Now what?” Sam asked her. “We can’t just sit here in a hole in the ground.”

“Well, it’s better than being a tin can on a fence post,” Gwen rebutted as she reloaded her gun. “Have you see what’s going on out there? It was a total ambush! They knew we were coming.”

“I know. Listen, I have to find Dean.”

“Yeah, and I need to find Blake.” Gwen pulled out her cell phone. “You getting anything? My battery’s almost out.”

Sam grabbed his from his jacket and turned it on to check the GPS for Dean’s marker. “No. I got nothin’.” Glancing up, he lifted himself slowly and struck his boots into the veiny, washed-out earth to gain a foothold.

“Be careful,” Gwen whispered sharply. “They’re still out there.”

“Gotta try.” He could just see over the top. His cell got one bar, then two.

A blurred shape came hurtling toward them from the wreckage of the cars. It huffed and barreled toward Sam, who scrambled to bring up his pistol without falling. A huge fireball struck the beast and sent it reeling into the side of a car. It shattered the remaining window and left a huge impression in the metal frame, but the creature got right back up. It shook its head and crouched for another charge, but a man's angry yell caught its attention, and Sam and the beast both turned to look.

It was Blake. His right hand was on fire, but if he was in any pain he wasn’t showing it. The flame grew even larger, a swirling blue mass of heat that echoed in his eyes. The wolf stood firm, beating its front paws on the ground, and it belted out a howl just as another stream of fire rushed from Blake’s palm. It was a direct hit and the wolf screamed and fell, thrashing as its grey fur curled into coal black ashes and its eyes shriveled and popped.

Sam watched the animal go up in flames. Then he sank below the level of the grade, sliding down until he was nearly sitting. Gwen's wide eyes were demanding to know what he had seen, but he just shook his head.

Within seconds, Blake leaped over the edge of the ridge and into their hiding place, landing behind Gwen. He twisted and rose, grabbing her by the shoulders.

She almost lifted her gun to rack the head of her assailant, but when she saw him, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Blake!”

He turned her around and held her. “I was coming back for Sam when I saw you. What the hell are you doing here?”

“You guys are seriously wearing that question down to the nub.”

“I’m going after Dean,” Sam declared simply. His face was fixed in a hard stare at the two of them, and without further explanation, he passed them and scrambled back up over the hill, grunting when he hit his knee. When his foot disappeared, Gwen shifted her gear to go after him, but Blake pulled at her elbow.

She yanked at the restraint. “We can’t let him go alone.”

“Fine,” he said. “But you’re not going. You’re staying here and waiting for me. I’ll be back in fifteen. If I’m no—”

Her eyebrow rose and her mouth puckered. “The hell I am.”

Blake’s eyes flashed. “I’ll tie you to this tree if I have to.”

“Fat chance,” she retorted, pulling her arm out of his grasp.

He caught it again before she could move away. “No!”

She tensed at his grip and her fists rose. “Why not?! Do you know something I don’t? Because if you do, now would be the time to spit it out!”

“You are not going out there to get yourself killed, Gwen,” he insisted. “You have to trust me on this, okay? I won’t let them have you, not you. I care about you too much.”

Gwen’s eyes turned to flint. “Look me in the eyes and tell me that Cain isn’t the alpha,” she demanded coldly.

Blace grimaced, and his gaze seemed to focus far away. “He didn’t do this. He’s been betrayed,” he whispered, then blinked and looked at Gwen again, a touch of worry in his eyes, “by someone who knows how much I love you.”

Her fists froze. “You _what_?”

He sighed. “I love you.”

She stared at him with her mouth hanging open. Blake’s expression was gentle, like he would kiss her senseless right now if she asked him to, make her utterly oblivious to their existence in the middle of this fiery chaos. “You decide to tell me this _now_?”

His face fell a little, and he let go of her arm. “It wasn’t the setting I pictured, but it still didn’t have quite the effect I was hoping for.”

“We’re fighting skinwalkers that have a grenade launcher, and I don’t even know whose side you’re on!” She jabbed a finger furiously over the top of the hill.

“Okay, yeah, I can see your point.”

She blinked incredulously at him. “And?!”

“And I still love you,” Blake smiled. “C’mon, let’s go.” He vaulted the ledge and then grabbed her hand to lift her up. The field around them was quieting and dogs were howling in the distance. Gunshots and explosions could be heard in the direction of the ranch house.

When she turned to look at him, there were sparks dancing in his eyes.

*

Sam heard the steady hiss and crackle of the blackened vehicles as he picked his way across the field, heading for the hill where Dean’s section had been posted.

Wafts of burnt plastic and rubber invaded his eyes and lungs until his eyes watered and he covered his face with his elbow. After less than a quarter mile of pain knifing through his knee, it got so numb that he couldn’t feel when it hit the ground. After that, he was hobbling stiffly rather than running. Dean had to be closing the gap between them, if he could just keep going.

His cell phone vibrated in his jacket pocket, but he was still out in the open, nearing the wreckage of the second car in the line. It didn’t look like anyone had escaped. He forced himself to look away and keep going; the intermittent vibration in his pocket becoming a game of how many steps he could take before it went off again, two, then three. He finally reached the other side of the clearing and took cover in a ditch. The phone shivered in his hand and then stopped: Missed call, Dean.

He vented frustration and called the number back, waiting while the sonic trill went off in his ear. In the same ear, the line clicked and he heard a low growl.

“Dean?”

“ _Where are you_?”

“On my way to you, in a—”

The growl intensified.

“ _Sam ..._ ”

He turned his head slowly and met the eyes of a huge rottweiler that was hunched low and forward over its shoulders, staring holes into him. Sam raised his pistol. The dog tilted its head at the gun, then took a step backwards, baring its teeth.

“ _Sam, shoot it_.”

He whispered back, “I can’t.”

“ _Where’s your gun_?”

“It’s a dog. I’m not gonna shoot a dog.”

“ _Didn’t stop you before_.”

“What?”

“ _Never mind. Trust me, Sam, shoot the damned thing_.”

Sam shot high. The bullet hit and kicked up the earth behind the dog’s head. Its ears flinched at the noise, and it took another step back.

“It’s still just staring at me.”

“ _Didn’t you shoot it_?!”

“Dean, it’s not a skinwalker, it’s a _dog_.”

Another shot rang out and the dog fell in a heap without making a sound.

“ _Sam_?”

He could see its tongue sticking out of a mouth now wrenched open on a long, wheezing gasp. It went still and the eyes dulled, bleak and gray, still staring at him.

“ _Sam_!”

“What!”

“ _Is it dead_?”

Lee appeared at the edge of the ditch, rifle in hand. He paused to glance at Sam before choosing a route down. “Hey, dude, why didn’t you take the shot?”

The phone, and Dean’s voice, dropped from Sam’s ear. “What the hell did you do that for?!”

Skidding down on the heels of his boots, Lee hit the base of the ditch and took a few bounds toward the body. He bent over it and pulled at one of the paws. It flopped back. “Aw, damn his luck.”

Sam shook his head and lifted the phone to his ear. “Where are you?”

“ _Nearly there_.”

“Is that Dean? Tell him he’s slow, man. I’m goin’ after Hawk and them — bag me an Alpha.” Lee took off without looking back.

“Right,” Sam responded quietly. He ended the call and limped over to the body. He struggled to kneel down without wincing and batted away a few flies that had begun to gather. He brushed back the dog’s ear with slow pets. “Sorry, pal,” he murmured. “Wrong place, wrong time.”

Small snaps of twigs drifted to him from the top of the hill. Sam shifted on his good knee to watch Dean make his way down quietly. When he stopped at Sam’s side, he frowned down at the dog thoughtfully. “Sucks to be him.”

Sam nodded, and let Dean help him to his feet. He rubbed at his knee and then motioned numbly into the distance where Lee had disappeared. “Let’s go.”

“You gonna be okay on that?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, I just have to keep moving.”

“Okay.”

They walked in silence until they reached the road again. When their heels hit gravel and there was no movement around them, they diverted their route toward the farmhouse. Sam noticed that Dean had made a concerted effort not to make any cracks about his face, or his knee, or about how his section buddies hadn’t seemed to be of much assistance in preventing those things. Sam heard them anyway.

He also heard the distinct rattle of metal ahead of them, and he stopped short to listen. Dean swayed backward and stopped, too. He glanced at Sam, then let his eyes follow the direction of Sam’s gaze. “What?”

“I don’t know. Something.” Sam said. When he stepped forward, his limp had grown pronounced again. “This way.”

They veered off toward an array of outbuildings, the ones that Dean had seen from the hillside. They made their way from building to building as quickly as Sam could move.

They paused around their breaths so that Sam could try to hear the noise again. He leaned against the wall to listen. Brown paint from the boards flaked off and landed on his shoulders. Finally, he shook his head.

Dean moved past him and peered around the corner. The smaller buildings were configured in a way that obscured most of his view of the house. He saw one corner of a porch, a white wooden railing that ran below a healthy potted fern, an old work truck, and a foreign car. All of them were perfect places to hide, or to set up an ambush.

“Where’s the rest of your fire brigade?” Dean asked.

“I left Blake and Gwen to come after you,” Sam answered.

Dean blinked and glanced up at him. “Oh. Is he coming?”

A giant whoop, one that sounded like it might have been Lee, echoed from the far side of the outbuildings.

Sam shifted his weight forward. “I think that’s our answer.”

“I don’t get why I’m always missing the party around here,” Dean muttered.

They moved cautiously past the two remaining outbuildings until they saw the source of the commotion.

“Chains,” Sam said, like that explained something important.

Five of the cars from their cavalcade were pulled into the field behind the house and parked haphazardly. One of the vehicles equipped with a rooftop SMG had made it this far. The doors and windows on a few others were blackened, but they appeared to be in one piece.

Dean tightened his grip on his lowered rifle and kept Sam’s slowing pace. He glanced back in the direction they’d come, then forward again. The smoke had somewhat dissipated from the field they were crossing, a wide expanse behind the house with upturned earth and massive smoking holes where bombs had missed their targets.

In the direction of the house, glass shattered. Dean grabbed Sam’s sleeve, and they ran as quickly as they could to the house. They took cover at the wall near the back door, and Sam gestured with two fingers that he could see inside. Dean took point and kicked the door down. Sam backed him, rounding the corner with his Taurus in his grip.

The house was stifling. The air followed them in with a whoosh as they entered and what had been a stand-off in one of the front rooms became a melee. Fur and men flew at each other with no intent of quarter. Furniture splintered and windows shattered. Several hunters disappeared in the jaws of the wolves escaping with their prey.

A huge white wolf remained, trapped and beaten, circling on a rug stained with its own blood. It growled at their entrance, clearly wanting to make a break for the windows.

Lee whistled from outside, drawing everyone’s attention. The last exit was blocked. The few skinwalkers that were left watched warily, pinned by the rest of Gideon’s team.

Blake was there, with Gwen. She was holding a network of woven silver chains at the ready. Gideon stood behind Blake near the front doorway with his rifle aimed at the alpha’s heart. The remaining dogs became silent, fixated on the hunter’s weapons.

Blake approached the white wolf, holding out his hand. Dean did a double-take.

“Come on, now. It didn’t have to be like this. It’s time,” Blake said, taking a step forward.

The animal hissed and back away, ears folded back and eyes glowing as red as fire.

“Dean’s here, Blake. We can take him with the Colt,” Gideon urged. “Dean, get the gun.”

“Nobody shoot him,” Blake rebuked in a smooth monotone. No one dared to speak, they only watched the strange sight of Blake calmly advancing on an animal that clearly wanted to kill him.

Still kneeling at the window, Lee lowered the rifle from his cheek to his shoulder without a word of contradiction.

The heat-damp air in the house filled with electricity, a charge that seemed to crackle around Blake and the alpha. The wolf lunged for his hand and snapped, then shrank back. Blake followed, closing the gap between them.

The remaining wolves flew into action, leaping for Blake when the hunters hesitated to respond. Within seconds, Sam pulled out the demon knife and flung one of the wolves to the ground. His long arms held the neck to the floor as the rest of its body writhed and tried to sling itself upright. He sliced the throat with a single smooth motion, then stabbed below the chest straight into the heart, killing it.

Two of the wolves jumped out the window over Lee’s head. His rifle hit the window sill and he dropped it. While one wolf kept running, the other stopped and turned back for him, sensing his vulnerability. Lee dropped to the ground, pulling his pistol and firing quickly. He unloaded a half magazine into the animal’s face before it dropped to the ground.

The white wolf twisted around until it was on top of Blake, white foam slathering from its lips. It opened wide to take a bite and Blake jammed his arm into the beast’s mouth. With his other hand, he grabbed at the scruff and yanked hard. The wolf tried to escape, its jaw stuck open uncomfortably wide, sharp canines now useless to contact skin. He pushed forward and around with his arm until it twisted the animal’s head towards the floor. It pulled away reflexively, trying to gain purchase on the rug as it slid across the floor. Blake rolled to his right, tossing the animal’s head all the way over. The large body landed on him, back teeth gnawing fruitlessly at his arm.

Dean raised his gun with the rest of the hunters and opened fire on the last handful of wolves. Sam grabbed the injured ones and ended them quickly. With each slice, the white wolf struggled harder against Blake’s grip.

The mouth began to shrink until Blake had to move to a choke hold. The wolf was sweating and bleeding, twisting and screaming, until the fur began to fall away in clumps. When it finally stopped, the air was littered with canine hair and Blake’s clothes were soaked in putrid drool and blood. He tightened his hold on the furious beast, still breathing in steep snarls, stripped down to a being that was half human and half tailed. From what Dean could make out, the alpha was a young, dark-haired man.

Blake cleared his throat. “Take him now.”

Gwen and two other hunters moved in with the chains. Gideon took the head manacle in half and passed it underneath while the two others tied its rear paws together and cuffed its hands, tying them together like a calf ready to be branded.

Blake moved out of their way. When he was finally tied and gagged, still shifting restlessly, the other hunters stood and waited for Blake to lift him. When Blake met his eyes, they were wild and feral, and anger spilled from them like blood, drenching the floor. Blake raised one arm and back-handed him across the face.

Black and red bloomed across his human features. He spat at Blake, smattering his face with inky blood. A few tense seconds passed and Blake wiped it away. Then he quietly wiped away the blood on the beast’s face. When he got up, he headed toward the door where the vehicles waited. “Let’s go.”

It took four men to carry the struggling alpha. They used pulleyed ropes to slide him into the nearest open bed vehicle, tearing the flesh from his back, and secured him down under a tarp.

Blake watched and said nothing.

Gwen kept her distance from them all, watching the edge of the woods with an intent frown on her face.

Dean walked up to Sam, who was wiping the knife clean on his jeans, and nudged him in the ribs. “Any clue what that was about between Blake and Cujo in there?”

Sam shook his head. “Seemed like they were familiar, though.”

“Yeah,” Dean squinted at Blake, who stood like a statue, uncharacteristically removed from the rest of the hunters.

Dean went to help bring out the wounded and lay them in a row on the ground. As he worked, he saw Blake pull Gideon aside and speak to him quietly.

Sam helped Lee, limping around to throw fuel on the roof and set the house and outbuildings alight. Any authorities ignoring calls about explosions in the area would surely come for a giant plume of smoke.

When Sam was done, he found Dean standing where they had parted. They watched Blake and Gideon talk. The priest was becoming animated and irate, gesturing with a pointed finger at his crew. Blake appeared worn and equally angry.

“Sammy, you know I hate asking, but nothing from the past is jumping out at you about this guy?”

Sam sighed. “No. I don’t know what he wants any more than you do.”

Dean flexed his neck to pull at his damp collar. “If you say so.”

Gideon and Blake parted ways. Gideon approached the injured, lying surrounded by the friends who had survived the fight unscathed. With a nod, Gideon went from one man to the next, acknowledging their bravery and thanking them.

Sam saw Blake grab an automatic rifle from the rear of one of the trucks, then swing back around, approaching the group. “Oh, no.”

Dean’s eyes followed Sam’s sudden movement forward and he saw the same thing. Sam didn’t shout at Blake or raise an alarm for the rest of the hunters, but he couldn’t close the distance fast enough. Dean ran for it, passing Sam easily, and stopped short in Blake’s path. “Just what exactly do you think you’re gonna do with that, huh?”

He expected Blake’s expression to be guarded, vacant, or defensive. It wasn’t. When Blake met his eyes, he looked pained. “Dean, get out of my way. All it takes is one bite and they’ll turn.”

“I’m not gonna let you _kill them_!”

Gwen appeared from behind Dean and made a move for the rifle. “Blake, what are you doing? No!”

Blake tried to raise the rifle out of her reach, but she grabbed the strap and curled it around her arm. “Gwen, you don’t understand. I don’t have a choice.”

“Yes, you do!”

Sam reached them, winded and grimacing. He pulled his pistol and aimed it over Gwen’s shoulders at Blake’s head. “We’re not going to let you do that. Enough is enough.”

“There’s no time to explain,” Blake lost his patience and shoved Gwen away. “They’re going—”

One of the hunters yelled. It was followed by another shout, longer in length and fading fast into the distance.

Blake broke away from the three of them and ran for the group of hunters. The wolves that had escaped had returned for their prey, barrelling their way through the hunters and dragging away anyone injured, stealing their bloody half-brothers from the ministrations of their former friends. They were as fast as hellhounds, and as quiet and coordinated as any pack of hunters that Dean had ever seen. He lifted the Colt, but stood mesmerized.

Yells and shouts melted into flashes of movement. Dean turned around to look for Sam. He was gone. His pistol was on the ground in the flattened grass. Drag lines and claw marks lined the yard, disappearing at the edge of the treeline clearing toward the fallow, plowed field. “No...!”

Dean knew what it was like to be dragged: voice caught in your throat, breaths only coming in small puffs, back burning. He knew that Sam wouldn’t be able to make a sound until they stopped moving.

He heard Gwen shout his name but he ignored her and ran, following the long scuffs and the pulled up plants where Sam had flipped on his side and tried to get leverage. Dean ran for what felt like a mile, through the treeline and the upturned field. There was no sound in front of him, only behind him, where Gwen and Blake were running to catch up.

The signs of struggle were fewer by the time he reached the other side of the field. Dean swallowed down the panic in between deep breaths and tried to focus. There was a ridge on one side of the field that was fenced off and heavily treed. The earth was pasted with brown leaves that hadn’t been disturbed. Above him, the fence had been ripped away. One of the posts was laid out on the ground. Another leaned heavily on the remaining wire. His hands dug into the earth as he climbed.

On the other side, Sam lay sprawled in the dirt. The demon knife was bright red against the mud-brown of his clothing.

“Sam!” Dean half-ran, half slipped down the embankment and hit the ground running. He reached his brother’s side in a spray of dead leaves, pulling his jacket off as he fell to his knees. Sam’s hands were wrapped around his side and his eyes were wide, the hazel bright with shock against his pale skin.

Dean’s hands were already folding his jacket, and he placed it over Sam’s abdomen and applied firm pressure to the wound. Sam cried out and his shoulders came up off of the ground, but his hands searched out Dean’s, and he pulled them down even tighter.

Dean yelled back up the hill without taking his eyes off of Sam’s face. “Blake! Talk to me!”

Blake scanned the forest from the top of the hill, his rifle at the ready. He let his senses heighten, and his ears strained for any warning sounds. It seemed they were alone. He hollered back to Dean. “Clear! I’m getting backup!”

Blake could still hear the brothers as he walked away to look for a clearing in the trees. Dean’s voice was rough, low and fast, rapid-fire questions coming one after the other.

“Is there anywhere else? What happened, was it one of ‘em? Sammy, did it bite you?”

Sam’s voice, laced with pain, was quiet. “Yeah. Dammit, yes.”

“It bit you? You’re _sure_.”

There was a pause, and Blake pressed his lips together and held his breath. From his angle he hadn’t been able to see the attack. If it was true, a human would have a few hours, maybe. A day at the most. For someone like Sam … Blake didn’t know.

There was a sigh, and Blake pictured Sam closing his eyes and laying his head down into the leaves, avoiding the look on Dean’s face as his words hit home. “I’m sure, Dean.”

Blake found a hole in the canopy above and raised his hand as high as he could. Sam had seen him once already, but he didn’t have a flare gun, and he wasn’t just going to let another hunter die. It was worth the risk. He summoned the fire quickly and built it in his palm.

From the bottom of the hill Dean’s clipped reply seemed to blow straight through Blake’s concentration.

“Then we deal with it.”

Blake fired the flare.

By the time he made it back to the Winchesters, Gwen had already dropped down beside Dean. She was cursing violently under her breath. She ran one distracted hand through her hair. “What happened?”

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but Dean cut him off. “Walker clawed him up good. Give me a hand.” Sam’s eyes glittered and his jaw set in silent protest to the lie, but Dean’s dark expression made any thought of arguing the point seem more like an act of suicide.

Blake internally shook his head. He was starting to see what the fuss was all about when it came to these two.

Within the hour, Sam was lying on a cot in the med tent. Blake watched as Dean allowed Gwen to help him remove Sam’s jacket and shirts. Deep puncture wounds spread across Sam’s ribs from the point of his hip around his side to the base of his shoulder. The thing had chewed on him, shredding the skin between the holes with its canines when it shook him in its jaws. Sam was staring resolutely at the lantern hanging overhead, concentrating on breathing in and out, tight-lipped and pale.

“This is going to get infected,” Gwen whispered gently to Dean, offering him fresh towels and a basin of holy water. “We should get him to a hospital.”

Dean inhaled, paused, and then nodded. “Thanks for your help,” he said, dipping the towel into the water and pressing it into Sam’s side. “But I got this. You guys can go.”

Gwen bit her lip and looked at Blake. Blake shrugged. “Dean, you should really -”

“Thank you, Gwen. Please go.”

Gwen pursed her lips, but nodded. “I’ll get him something for the pain,” she said, and she showed herself out.

Blake followed her out of the tent, and Dean dropped the flap behind them. It didn’t close all the way, and Blake stopped to watch silently through the opening, peering through a window into a situation he’d never known anything about.

Sam’s skin was shining in the lantern light, sweat rolling off of him in sheets. The fever would set in soon, and before long everyone in the camp would know that Dean had lied about the nature of Sam’s injuries. Dean’s hands danced in and out of view, first cleaning the lacerations with holy water, then packing the wounds with an antibiotic cream. Their voices intermingled, low and rumbling, an argument with no heat; a constant stream of noise. When Dean placed the first stitch, his brother seemed to almost relax into the touch. Sam fell silent, watching Dean work through glazed eyes.

“They grew up like that,” Gwen said, touching Blake on the shoulder. “Just the two of them and their dad. When Sam first showed up with Dean, you know what? I didn’t get it. But lately - things are different. I don’t think there’s a thing on this earth that can keep those two separate for long.” She paused to consider before adding, “Or under it.”

A deep, wistful ache bloomed in Blake’s chest, a surge of recognition for what it meant, for why he had been drawn to them, to their blood. “I don’t imagine there is,” he murmured.

Gwen stepped to the entrance and handed Dean a small bottle of pills. Blake heard Dean whisper thank you but when Gwen stepped back out, Sam shook his head no. Dean didn’t argue, he just set them aside.

Gwen squeezed Blake’s shoulder. “Come on,” she urged, “Dean’s done this before. He knows what he’s doing. Let’s get some rest.” She took him by the hand and pulled, and Blake followed.

She led him to his tent and pulled back the door flap, motioning for him to step inside. He sank down onto the sleeping bags, wearily tugging off his jacket and boots. Gwen stepped in after him and pulled the zipper up behind her, closing the door to give them both the brief illusion of privacy.

Blake leaned back onto the palms of his hands and craned his neck to look up at her. “You stayin’?”

Gwen glanced around the tent as if she was trying to see through the walls. Her voice dropped below a whisper, almost a non-sound, so that he would be the only one who could hear. “People died out there today,” she said, sounding more sad than suspicious. “Sam could be dying right now. I’m through with taking no for an answer, Blake. If you really love me, you’ll tell me the truth about all of this.”

He offered her his hand and she took it, letting him pull her close. He dug Nora’s flash drive out of his pocket and put it in her hand, curling her fingers around it. She frowned, her eyes searching his face for answers. “Everything there is to know is in there,” he whispered, letting go of her hand to lay his palm over her chest, “and in here.”

Her heartbeat fluttered restlessly. She held up the flash drive, but her dark eyes never left his. “And you’re giving it to me?”

He nodded gravely. “I thought I already did.”

She touched his cheek. “Get some sleep,” she said. She pushed him down onto the sleeping bag and tossed a blanket over him, then stood to leave. She unzipped the tent door and started to step out.

“Goodnight, Gwen,” he whispered.

She paused and glanced back, and he saw that her knuckles were white around the curve of the flash drive in her hand. “Goodbye, Blake,” she whispered back, and then she was gone.


End file.
